


Nova Baby

by slashy (slashmyheartandhopetoporn)



Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: Kid Fic, M/M, Not Canon Compliant
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-03-07
Updated: 2015-08-23
Packaged: 2018-03-16 17:03:24
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 14
Words: 29,484
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3496121
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/slashmyheartandhopetoporn/pseuds/slashy
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Someone drops a werecub on Stiles' doorstep while he's finishing his last semester in college. Peter's the lucky pack member who's sent out to help Stiles take care of the baby.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Largely written before 3B, so...not canon compliant from that point onward. I also haven't seen TW since 3B (not really a conscious choice, it just kind of happened that way?), so this might read as really strange depending on what's happened in season 4.
> 
> I'm not tagging for dub con, but I feel it's only responsible to note that any relationship with Peter Hale is probably subject to mass amounts of manipulation, and it's probably safe to assume that some of Stiles' attraction to Peter is born out of that manipulation. If the idea of that makes you uncomfortable, you might want to skip this fic! 
> 
> Otherwise, thank you so much for reading. I picked this fic up after more than a year without even looking at it, and while it's not yet completed, I'm 95% sure I'll be able to finish it up within the week. As such, I'm going to take a gamble and start posting the 4 chapters I already have.
> 
> Hope y'all like it. :)

Stiles Stilinksi loved being in college. Which was good, because he'd essentially left behind every single person he'd ever loved--which included a werewolf pack that had accepted him as their own, his best friend, and his damn father--to be there. But still, at the end of the day he knew the incredibly difficult decision to pack up his bags and drive his beloved jeep from California to Texas to attend UT Austin in order to study Ancient History and Classical Civilizations had been worth it.

But it had been difficult, there was no getting around that. Stiles loved Beacon Hills. He loved his dad, and he loved Scott, and he loved Scott's pack and the place he had found within it. It was an unusual pack, that much was certain. Any wolf pack that included as many non-wolves as wolves merited a second glance. Especially when one of those non-wolves was a hunter, another was a banshee, and the third was a hyperactive boy who couldn't define the word "tact" to save his life. Yet that hyperactive boy had been welcome. Even after he had chosen to leave. The decision had also been made difficult for Stiles given the fact that he was fully expected to step up and act as Scott's emissary after some further study with Deaton, which was kind of difficult to do when you were living a three day drive away. 

"Look, just because you're not able to train for it now doesn't mean you won't be able to later," Scott had said with a smile. "Am I looking forward to you moving to Texas for four years? Not especially. But I know what school means to you, so I'm genuinely happy that's what you're going to get to do." Then he'd pulled Stiles into a gruff and quick hug. "Plus we'll come visit. I hear Austin's amazing."

Scott wasn't wrong about Stiles' love of learning. Though he'd sometimes had a difficult time focusing in class or on assignments, Stiles had always loved gaining new knowledge, even if he didn't always know or care about the appropriate time to discuss it. Plus it had always been his mother's desire that he attend college, and so as far as Stiles was concerned there was really no other option besides going. Did he have to go to a school half way across the country? No, that hadn't been stipulated by either parent, but Stiles couldn't deny that there had been a thread of excitement tugged within him at the prospect of travelling so far from home to somewhere so different. Lydia had also been excited.

"Ancient History and Classical Civilizations?" she had practically squealed when Stiles had shown her the department website one afternoon while hanging out at Derek's. "Does this mean we're going to get to speak Latin together at some point?" 

Stiles had grinned and waggled his eyebrows. Derek had rolled his eyes.

"Nerds," he had muttered, but he had done so with affection. 

"You know who else is going to like that?" Isaac had asked from his place at the kitchen table where he had been demolishing a bowl of Lucky Charms. "Peter."

It was Stiles' turn to roll his eyes. 

"Who cares about Peter?" Lydia had snapped from the couch. "He sees enough of Stiles as it is. He doesn't need any encouragement to harass him more than he already does."

Isaac had shrugged and Stiles had sighed. He  _did_ see Peter a lot more than anyone had anticipated, but such was the reality when Peter was the keeper of what remained of the Hale library. Between Stiles' thirst for information and his desire to be pack emissary, it was inevitable he'd arrive one day on Peter's doorstep and grudgingly ask to see some of his books. Peter, who was not a member of Scott's pack, nor trusted enough to even  _possibly_  be considered a member in the near future, saw the opportunity to weasel his way into Scott's good graces, even if it was a very small opportunity, and acquiesced. Peter did not especially want to join Scott's pack--he didn't even especially like anyone in it, including his nephew--but allies were allies, and true alphas made particularly good ones. Stiles knew Peter would do what he could to gain a foothold in Scott's pack, however small it was, and it was this desire that he had counted on when he had approached Peter the first time during the summer before senior year. Peter, of course, had not disappointed.

So Stiles had made his way to Peter's downtown apartment a couple of times a month to immerse himself in the coveted knowledge for hours, always emerging from the experience feeling more giddy than when he arrived. They had never spoken much while Stiles was there. They hadn't even wasted time on the banality of small talk. But sometimes Peter had been considerate enough to provide Stiles with strong cups of coffee or, if he felt Stiles was already too keyed up, strong cups of tea. 

It was a strange relationship, particularly because no one else, including Derek, was really in contact with Peter. It was left up to Stiles to determine if anything seemed suspicious at Peter's place or with Peter's behavior, then to report back to Scott and Derek.

"I don't know what to tell you," Stiles always said. "Peter's baseline is always, 'Downright Suspect.' It's difficult to tell when he's acting more suspicious than normal. He oozes suspicion even when he's bringing me coffee."

"He brings you coffee?" Scott had asked. Derek had raised an eyebrow. 

"Yeah, I mean, he makes it for himself and then he gives me a cup. He's not a total heathen." Scott had looked shocked at that, which had made Stiles backtrack. "I mean, he's mostly a heathen. Just not, you know, completely." 

Stiles' study sessions with Peter were also what had influenced him to study the

classics in school at Austin. Stiles couldn't keep track of the number of documents or words he had come across that required a knowledge of ancient languages that Stiles didn't have, and considering Lydia (rightly) refused to step foot in Peter's presence, that meant he was constantly taking pictures or scribbling down words that he then had to bring to Lydia for translation later, which disrupted his flow of reading while at Peter's. Stiles wanted to know the languages for himself, as well as the history and mythologies of the ancient civilizations, as it all seemed to tie back into Peter's books or Allison's beastiary.

So Stiles had moved to Austin, where he had thus spent three years learning so much he felt his brain would burst with it. In a  _good_  way. Being away from Beacon Hills was hard, but he kept in touch with his family there as best he could, Skyping with his dad and the pack, occasionally giving Scott advice or emailing with Deaton. He'd even had a couple of brief, awkward phone calls with Peter about books the werewolf sometimes recovered from rare used bookstores and the few other packs who would speak to him. It seemed Peter was determined to rebuild his collection, and he thought Stiles might be interested in the developments. 

The developments Stiles were most interested in, however, were the ones involving Peter and Scott. After two years at UT, Scott hesitantly broke the news to Stiles that Peter was being invited to join the pack.

"That's...unexpected," Stiles had said slowly.

"Yeah, I know," Scott had agreed. "It's just Peter's been, you know,  _fine_. Unless he's been holding out for a slow con for the last, what, three, four years? I don't think he's scheming anybody's downfall. And ever since you left, there hasn't been anybody willing to spend the hours that you did reading his books. Not to mention that Derek's kind of...well, he misses his family, and Peter's family. So we talked about it for a long time and we've decided to let him join, if he wants. But I couldn't talk to Peter before talking to you, and Derek agrees."

Stiles had sat in silence for a minute, holding the phone to his ear. He had collapsed onto the lumpy futon in his small apartment and stared blankly out the window, worrying his lower lip. "Look, I'm fine with it. It makes sense to have him be there when you consider it through certain perspectives. But what does the rest of the pack think?"

"You mean Lydia?"

"Well yeah, and Allison. They've both got a couple of major gripes with him I'm sure."

Stiles had heard Scott sigh on the other end of the phone. "Well, you know, Allison made her peace with Peter a while ago. She knew her aunt was no saint.

And Lydia's not even  _here_  most of the time. MIT isn't exactly in our backyard. I had a pretty long phone conversation with her last night, and, I mean, she's not happy about it. She says if he joins she's basically going to ignore him."

"Scott, that's pretty major," Stiles had said, standing from the couch. "The pack is already being pushed given how spread out we are. I don't know if it can take being pushed much farther, and if Peter joins that's going to be a pretty fucking big push."

"Then consider this a trial run," Scott had said quickly. "We're going to ease Peter in and see how it goes with Allison, Derek, Isaac, and I. When you and Lydia visit this winter we'll see how things go. I know it's going to be rough, but I honestly believe this is the right decision for the pack right now."

Stiles had been able to sense the alpha in Scott showing its face, but he couldn't keep entirely quiet. "Scott, obviously I respect your decision, and I won't argue with you about it. But I also can’t pretend I'm not worried about Lydia."

"I am, too. But she's strong and she's smart. And maybe with a little nudging she'll come around." 

Stiles had known immediately what Scott was hinting at, and it made him groan ever so slightly. "You want me to talk her into it."

"I wouldn't use those words," Scott has said, and he had sounded a little wounded to Stiles' ear.

"I'll do my best to talk to her about it. But you know I'm not going to try and make her feel like her thoughts are unimportant. If she's dead set against this, I won't stop her from expressing those feelings, even to you. I mean you're my brother, Scott, but--"

"I get it, Stiles. Don't think that I don't. I completely do. I'm just..."

"I know, man. Being an alpha is hard."

"It really is," Scott had whined, and Stiles couldn't help but laugh.

"All right Scott. You do what you feel is best. You know I support you. But next time you call, you better have cheerier news."

Lydia  _had_  come around eventually, though she'd never warm up to Peter, she had claimed. Considering Lydia was the last barricade to Peter's entrance, her agreement had marked the end of the discussion. That was that. Peter was a member of the pack. 

Stiles spent the next year in relative peace, visiting Beacon Hills when he could,

calling when he couldn't, and working his ass off on both school work and  _work_  work, as he had a job through campus working in the library. 

It wasn't until early on in the last fall semester he'd ever have at UT Austin that Stiles' life took an unexpected turn. As Stiles opened the door to his apartment, ready to head to class, he found an unsealed box covering most of his welcome mat. After picking up the box and lifting one of the cardboard flaps, he almost immediately released it back onto the ground. Thankfully, however, he did not, because inside the box a small baby was swaddled in blankets and cooing quietly up at Stiles' shocked face.

" _What the actual fuck_!"


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Response to this has been more than I could have dreamed, so I'm posting the second chapter earlier than planned. It involves actual Peter, Stiles, and baby interaction, wahoo!

The first thing Stiles did was bring the box hurriedly inside his apartment. The second thing he did was call his father.

"Hey, Stiles," his dad's warm voice said on the other end of the line.

"Dad!" Stiles screeched in return.

"Stiles, what's wrong?" his voice's warmth was suddenly replaced with concern.

Stiles took a brief moment to consider the best way to tell his father he was now in possession of a baby. "Dad, uh, I don't exactly know how to say this, so I'm just going to come out with it.” Another breath. “I've got a kid."

" _What_?"

Stiles immediately realized that was one of the worst possible ways he could have broken the news. "I mean, I didn't like,  _have_  a kid with anyone. I mean some baby was dropped on my doorstep, and  _I have no idea what to do_."

"Oh Christ, thank God.”

"Dad, not the time to be relieved! There is still a fucking  _BABY_  in my apartment!" Stiles was frantic. The baby didn't seem to notice.

"Okay, uh, do you know where it could have come from?"

Stiles threw his free hand up into the air. "No! No I do not! None of my friends have fucking  _children_ , dad! They're all stoners and nerdy dead language enthusiasts! Those aren't exactly the types to procreate!"

"Okay, Stiles, son, you need to take a deep breath, have a seat, and just, just breathe, Stiles!"

"Oh fuck," Stiles said, for as he'd looked down to check for the thirtieth time that the baby was in fact real, he found its small face suddenly sporting the tell-tale sideburns and golden eyes. "Oh fuck me,  _fuck me, it's a werewolf_."

"Stiles, you need to call Scott! Are you listening to me? Calm down and call Scott!" Stiles' dad sounded like the police officer Stiles knew so well, his voice stern. It helped anchor him back to reality. 

"Okay," Stiles said shakily. "I'm going to call him. I'll call you back," then Stiles hung up and pressed Scott's name in his contacts. "Why me," he whimpered as he listened to the dial tone. 

"Hey, Stiles!" answered Scott, enthusiastic as always.

"Scott!" Stiles said, voice strangled.

"Stiles, what's the matter?" His voice was all alpha now. 

"Scott, someone dumped their werebaby on my doorstep."

"I'm sorry. What did you say?"

"Scott, you heard me just fine! Somebody dumped their werebaby on my doorstep! What the fuck do I do?" 

"Oh fuck, I have to talk to Derek. Let me call you back." Then Scott was gone and Stiles was left once again alone with the gurgling werecub. 

"Who are you?" He asked it weakly. "Who left you here?" The werebaby said nothing.

Ten minutes later and Derek was calling Stiles back. “So you’re absolutely sure it’s a baby werewolf?” Derek asked, as if he thought there was a decent chance Stiles would somehow give him a different answer than he’d given Scott.

“It’s got sideburns and glowing yellow eyes, Derek, I’m _pretty sure it’s a werewolf_.”

Derek swore. “I have to call Peter.”

Before Stiles could demand everyone stop playing musical phones, Derek had hung up.

Ten minutes after that, Scott’s name was flashing on the phone screen.

"Tell me what to do," Stiles said instead of the customary greeting. “And don’t tell me I need to call anyone else.”

"Stiles, it's going to be okay. We're sending someone to help you figure out what to do, and then maybe take her back." 

Stiles felt his body go lax. "Thank fucking God. When is Derek getting here?"

There was a pause. "Stiles, we're not sending Derek. We're sending Peter."

"No you're not," Stiles replied, and it felt like time had stopped. 

"Yes, we are."

"Scott, he'll eat her. Why can't Derek come?" Stiles didn't really think Peter would kill a helpless child, but he wasn't certain enough to risk it.

"He will  _not_  hurt the cub, Stiles. Jesus. And Derek can't come because he's already out of town for the Pacific Northwest Pack Meet. He's in the middle of ally negotiations and he can't just leave. None of us know shit about taking care of babies, let alone werewolf babies...except Peter. He's a trusted member of this pack, and he's leaving tonight for Austin."

Stiles groaned into his hands. "Fine," he said, but he sounded wrecked. "Fucking fine." Then he hung up and called his dad once more.

"They're sending Peter tonight to come here and help," he said flatly.

"Peter Hale? The currently undead  _murderer_?" 

"I'm not happy about it either," Stiles said. 

"I'm flying out there, Stiles. As soon as I can," said his father.

"No, Dad, you don't need to do that," Stile said, but his heart wasn't in it. He desperately wanted to see his father.

"Screw that, yes I do, Stiles. I'll call you once I figure out the plane situation. For now...you need some baby supplies." Then he rattled off a list of things Stiles would need to have immediately.

Half way through tossing all the required supplies into a shopping cart at Target, Stiles' phone rang for the umpteenth time.

"What do _you_ want?" Stiles said shortly. "I'm in the middle of something and I’m running out of minutes."

Stiles was answered by a delicate scoff. “No one has _minutes_ anymore, Stiles. Also, hello. It's lovely to hear from you, too.” Stiles rolled his eyes and said nothing, so Peter continued. "They've booked me a flight for late tonight, 11:30 PM our time, that is, which means I'll be there very early in the morning, around 5:30 AM your time. Don't worry about picking me up; I'll call a cab to bring me to your apartment."

"My dad's planning to fly out here, too," Stiles told him.

"Yes, we know. He called us. He'll be on the same flight that I am, which means you just need to get through tonight and then you'll have all the help could want."

Stiles snorted. Not exactly. 

"Look, I really am in the middle of buying a shit ton of stuff I can't really afford at Target, so if that's all, then I have to go so I can decide which car seat to charge to my dad's credit card."

"Charge it to the pack card," Peter said.

"Really?"

"Stiles, obviously. The cub's a part of our pack for now, and it's not like we don't have the money. Derek's still swimming in the insurance money, not to mention what he makes working construction. I had quite a bit before the fire and even more hidden away, and Isaac, Scott, and Allison all work and contribute what they can to the pack fund. The pack can afford the expense, so put it on the pack card. And Stiles, you'll be absolutely fine tonight. Feed it, burp it, clean its diaper, and put it to bed. Also, tell me the gender so I can stop calling it an 'it.’" 

"I haven't...really looked yet. But I think it's a girl," Stiles said, staring at the small bundle in his arms. 

"Okay. A baby girl," Peter said, his voice unexpectedly soft. "I can't wait to meet her." Then Peter hung up the phone, leaving Stiles to his shopping.

It was difficult shopping with one arm, his other always holding the little girl, but somehow Stiles managed it. And now he had a car seat he could safely put the baby in for the drive home. Assuming he hooked it up right. Fuck, parenting was stressful.

 

+

 

It was even more stressful for Stiles a few hours later after he'd had to deal with the werebaby's crying, feeding, bathroom habits, and the general chaos of trying to reorganize his life for the sake of a small child. He had managed to speak with his dad briefly in between all the madness to confirm he'd be arriving with Peter, so at least there was that.

Once bedtime rolled around, though, Stiles realized there was no way he'd be able to sleep. So he stayed awake, watching the little girl with nervous vigilance, terrified she would perish for some unknown reason in the middle of the night.

Of course, this did not happen. But still Stiles remained awake until it was so early he realized he may as well meet Peter and his dad at the airport himself. He double checked the flight information his father had sent, and then made his way to the Austin airport. 

They were happy to see him. Well, Stiles' dad was happy to see him. Peter was largely indifferent to Stiles but very immediately excited about the baby. He gently plucked her from Stiles' arms before Stiles could stop him, and then nuzzled his cheek against her own. "You smell funny," he told her sweetly. "But soon enough you'll smell right." Stiles didn't really know what to make of that, so he turned to his dad and pulled him into a hug.

"I'm so glad you're here. How long can you stay?"

His dad hugged him back hard. "I can only stay for two days, then I'll have to fly back," he said sadly. 

"You've got a hotel figured out?" Stiles asked. Peter would be sleeping at Stiles' since he'd be helping with baby and also because he wasn't sure how long he'd be staying, which meant his dad had to find somewhere else to stay, much to Stiles' distaste.

"Yes, I do. But I expect I'll be spending more time with you then I will there."

"God, I hope so," Stiles said heavily.

His dad smiled. "Stiles, you're going to be all right. It's not forever, and you're not alone. As much as we wish someone else was helping."

"I can hear you," Peter cooed, eyes still trained on the baby.

"Yeah, yeah," Stiles muttered. "Okay, let's head back to my apartment. But be warned: it's kind of a major mess right now. Baby stuff everywhere. I think I went a little overboard considering it's not like I'm going to be keeping her. But I have stuff to make some coffee and some eggs and toast, too, if you guys are hungry."

Which is exactly what Stiles did while his father and Peter crowded into his tiny kitchen, Peter still clinging to the werebaby girl.

"She's already very attached to you, Stiles," Peter said as he rocked the baby.

Stiles plopped into a chair at the dining table, food for everyone in hand. "What do you mean? I seriously doubt it."

"She's barely taken her eyes off of you since I took her," Peter explained.

"That doesn't mean anything," Stiles countered.

"Look, werewolf children are incredibly tactile creatures, just like human babies except more intense given the heightened senses. She spent all day and all night with you taking care of her. She even smells like you. It's going to be difficult to remove her from you."

"She'll get over it," Stiles said as he buttered his toast. As if to prove him wrong, the baby began crying in Peter's arms, her small hands reaching out towards Stiles. "You're kidding me," Stiles groaned, but he reached across the small table and brought the werechild to his chest.

"You're good with her," his dad said with a smile.

"That's a load of bull," Stiles said.

"No, it's not," said Peter.

"Just eat your breakfast, both of you," Stiles ordered as he bit into his own.

He couldn't deny that Peter and his father may have had a point. The werebaby rarely cried while Stiles held her, and she only fell asleep in his arms. And Stiles loved her as much as he could, knowing she would soon be gone, in return. After the panic of realizing there was baby in his home had subsided, he'd found adjusting to the little thing much easier than he had expected.

Late that evening, Stiles' dad stood from the couch, where he had been tickling the baby's feet, and announced he was heading to the hotel. "I'll be back early tomorrow, though. Stiles, did you get everything figured out with the school."

Stiles, who had been dozing on the other end of the couch, stood as well to drive his dad home. "Yeah, I emailed all my professors and told them there was a family emergency and that I'd have to miss the week. I'm covered now." 

At that moment Stiles' dad's phone rang. "Ah, I have to take this real quick," he said, then stepped outside.

Stiles picked up the werecub from where she was lolling on the couch. "You ready for a little ride?" he asked her.

"I think it'd be better if you left her here with me," Peter said from his seat in the armchair.

"It's not a problem for me to take her," Stiles argued.

Peter stood from the couch and smiled at Stiles with his arms outstretched. "Let me see her," he said quietly.

Stiles hesitated, then slowly gave the baby to Peter, eyeing the werewolf warily.

Peter stared lovingly at the baby, but when he spoke his words were directed

only at Stiles. "What the fuck do you think I'm going to do to her?" he asked, his harsh language incongruous with the smile on his face and the tone of his voice.

"Nothing, Peter, I know you won't do anything," Stiles said nervously. God, he was bad at lying.

"You think I'm going to rip open her throat with my teeth right here?" Peter continued, his voice still sickly sweet while he rocked the child.

"N-No, of course not, Peter."

Finally Peter turned to look at Stiles, his smile gone. "Scott and Derek trust me. That should be more than enough for you."

Stiles sighed. "Peter, I haven't spent any significant amount of time with you in  _years;_  Scott and Derek and have spent the last twelve-plus months seeing you almost daily. I've had a few inconsequential visits in Beacon Hills and a handful of awkward phones calls equaling roughly twenty minutes total. Hardly enough to uproot the deep-seated problems I have with you. I mean, I'm sorry, but I can't just let all of that go."

Peter's grip on the baby tightened to the point where she began to cry. Instantly he relaxed, and then handed her back over to Stiles. "I'm going for a walk," he snapped. "And by the way, fuck you, Stiles." Then he was out the door. Moments later Stiles' dad poked his head back in.

"Um, I'm ready when you are, Stiles. And what's up with Peter?"

"He's an ass, that's all," Stiles said, then he grabbed his keys.

 

+

 

A half hour after Stiles returned for the airport with the baby, Peter flounced back into the apartment smelling strongly of sweat and dirt, his nails still stained a little with blood.

"Feel better?" Stiles asked.

Peter only growled, a little bit of his wolf still clinging to him.

"Look, I'm sorry about what I said. But it's no secret we're not friends, and that neither of us especially likes the other. I set you on fire. You almost killed my friends. Those aren't exactly waters easily left under the bridge. But I don't want to spend the next however many days with us at each other’s' throats." Peter

said nothing, clearly still angry, which ignited some of Stiles' earlier frustrations. "You know what, whatever. We’re going to bed. You can sleep on the futon," Stiles said tiredly. "Scott's never complained about it, so you should be fine."

Peter grinned nastily. "Sounds wonderfully luxurious."

"Oh fuck off," Stiles snapped, done with Peter's bullshit. "You slept in the damn ground for weeks; you can handle my futon."

"I was dead when I was in the ground, you idiot. I'm perfectly alive right now."

"Well, I can fix that for you, if you like. Clear up this little problem right here, right now."

Peter was silent for a moment. "God, you're bitchy," he finally said.

"Pot, meet Kettle," Stiles spat. "Good night." Then he went to his bedroom with the werebaby tucked into his arms.

He placed her in the small crib he had purchased and assembled the night before, all the packaging still intact for the inevitable return, and then crawled into bed. But again Stiles couldn’t sleep, despite his utter exhaustion. Peter had riled him up too much, and no peace would settle in his mind. After an hour of tossing and turning, Peter padded into Stiles' room without even a knock of warning.

"Does she have a name?" Peter asked quietly.

Stiles was too damn tired to gripe about Peter's unwanted appearance. "No, I wasn't sure I should give her one," he said uncertainly from the bed.

"Why don't we name her after your mother?" Peter said as he stepped further into the room.

Stiles shot up to a sitting position. Peter's suggestion felt like a slap in the face. Later Stiles would recognize this comment as Peter attempting to make peace with him, but in the moment it felt like an insult.  _Because she's not mine_  Stiles wanted to scream at Peter.  _Why the fuck would I name her after the most important woman in the world to me when I can't even keep her?_

"I'm not naming her after my mother," Stiles said, his voice pure ice.

"Why?" Peter asked. He knew he was pushing a button, Stiles was sure of it.

Stiles tried to think of how to politely put into words the thoughts in his head, but the best he could do was eventually let out a hysteric, "In what world do you think we can keep her?"

"Why wouldn't we be able to?" Peter snarled. "She was abandoned! She's ours now."

It was then the baby started crying. 

Both Peter and Stiles were at her side in an instant. Stiles scooped her up before Peter, and then sat back on the bed with Peter following suit. He mumbled nonsense to her until she quieted. One of Peter's hands stroked her cheek.

"Peter, I just...there's a lot of packs she could belong to here. We can't just steal her away," Stiles finally said.

"We're not stealing her, Stiles," Peter replied. "Stiles, think about it. There was any number of  _actual_  werewolves that she could have been left with, and yet someone very deliberately found you, a non-werewolf with no pack connections in this city, making you a completely unlikely person for this job, and gave this baby to you. There may very well be a reason this child is being, for all we know, intentionally hidden from the other wolves here. It's possibly incredibly unsafe to let any other wolves know she's here, let alone for us to give her to any of them."

Stiles sort of saw the logic in this train of thought, but it also sounded suspiciously like classic Peter Manipulation 101. He kept quiet, however, too tired to argue about it. He sat quietly besides Peter, running his hand through the baby’s thin hair. Eventually Stiles spoke again.

“I’ve been thinking about the name Nova.”

“That’s...unconventional,” Peter said carefully.

“It means ‘new’ in Latin. And it has associations with energy and the stars. I’ve always thought it was pretty. And I don’t see a problem with unconventional names, honestly.”

Peter snorted. “Says the guy who won’t tell anyone his first name.”

“That’s because it’s impossible to spell and even trickier to pronounce,” Stiles huffed. “And it’s not like I’ve met anyone else named Stiles, you know.”

“Okay,” Peter said. “Nova it is.”

“Do we have a truce then?” Stiles asked.

“Stiles, you’re the only one claiming we’re enemies.”

Stiles accepted the reality of this statement and nodded. “I’m sorry.”

“Apology accepted,” Peter said, then he stood from the bed. “I’m going to try to actually get some sleep now.”

“See you in the morning.”

Then Stiles put Nova back into her crib and slept.


	3. Chapter 3

The next morning Stiles was readying to head over to his dad's hotel. Peter was also awake, but Nova was still sleeping. Stiles was at her crib bending to lift her when Peter appeared at his bedroom door. 

"Leave her be, Stiles. She doesn't need to go everywhere with you. Especially considering very soon she likely won't be around you at all."

Stiles swallowed and nodded. "Okay. Fine." In her crib, Nova stirred.

Stiles made his way to the doorway, walking past Peter and out into the hall. Immediately Nova began to bawl. 

"Jesus," Stiles said, surprised.

"I'll get her," Peter said as he headed into the bedroom. He carried Nova back out into the hall where Stiles was, where she promptly ceased her screaming. "See, she just wanted to be held. I'll get her breakfast ready, and we'll be just fine by the time you get back with the sheriff.”

Stiles just sighed. "All right," he said. "We'll be back soon." Then he grabbed his keys and walked out the front door. Again, Nova began to sob. Stiles turned around and came back inside, and the crying quieted. Peter and Stiles stared at each other from across the room. 

Stiles walked out the door. The crying began.

Stiles came back inside. The crying stopped.

Outside. Crying.

Inside. Silence.

"No," Stiles said under his breath.

"Yes," Peter said, voice resigned.

" _Fuck_ ," Stiles swore.

"Indeed," Peter agreed.

"Well, I mean, it's like you said, right? She's going to have to get used to me not being around," Stiles said anxiously.

"Yes, I guess," Peter said, and for the first time in a long time Stiles saw Peter look scared. The fact that Peter was scared of being alone with a baby made Stiles chuckle despite himself.

"Look, just...sit tight. I'll get my dad as fast as I can. I'm sure she'll tire herself out soon, okay?"

Peter did not look like he believed Stiles.

When Stiles returned twenty minutes later with his father in tow, he could hear Nova's sob from the parking lot. 

"Is that  _her_?" his dad asked.

"I'm afraid so."

Before Stiles and his dad had taken another step, Peter opened the door to Stiles' apartment with Nova in his arms, and as soon as the werebaby saw Stiles, her screaming ended.

"Oh, thank God," Peter said, rushing over to hand Nova to Stiles.

"No need to call me that," Stiles said snickering. He couldn't help but be a little pleased that Nova seemed to love him so much that she apparently could not bear to be away from him, not even for Peter’s sake.

"Don't get fucking smart with me, Stiles. This could potentially become a big problem," said Peter.

And a big problem it became. Whether Nova was left with Peter, Stiles' father, or Peter  _and_ Stiles' father, if Stiles was not present she cried and cried, never seeming to tire of the activity. Stiles could be gone for hours, as he was when he had to run to school to meet with his professors to pick up work and discuss assignments, and Nova would cry the entire time. She also refused to eat, which was the more troubling element of their situation.

"I think I know what's going on," Peter said by the end of the day.

"You mean besides the obvious part where the kid's in love with Stiles?" snapped the sheriff.

Peter sent him a glare. "I understand you're being unhelpfully sarcastic, but in truth I think that's almost exactly what's happened. Nova's gone and committed herself to Stiles. There's a chance, given her age and the fact that she's already been abandoned once, that she won't connect with anyone else after Stiles."

"Well what does that mean for us?" Stiles asked as he bounced Nova on his lap.

"I'm not sure. It could mean, in our very worst case scenario, that you have to keep her, Stiles.

"No," Stiles and his father said at the same time. 

"There's no way that's a legitimate option," Stiles continued. "I have a life here. I have school! I can't just drop everything to take care of a child I'm not mentally or emotionally mature enough to handle!"

"We need to talk to Scott and Derek, but you need to prepare yourself for that potential option. I may be able to stay here long term to see if we can transfer her attachment from you to me, but honestly that could take as many months as it will take for you to finish school. The reality, Stiles, is that I'm probably going to temporarily move to Austin, probably to your very apartment, and stay with you until you graduate."

"Get Scott on the phone," Stiles' dad said. "Nobody start jumping to any major conclusions until we talk to your damn alpha."

It was sound advice, as far as Stiles was concerned. 

After three hours of talking with Scott and Derek--who was difficult to get a hold of considering he was still at the pack meet--as well as even conferring with two other trusted alphas from packs neighboring Beacon Hills, and also Dr. Deaton and Morrell, Stiles' worst nightmare was decided: Peter would move in to his apartment and do everything possible to transfer Nova's attachment from Stiles to him, and if that failed, then he would simply stick around to help Stiles parent the baby.

After the decision was made, Stiles shut himself into his room for an hour, Nova tucked into her crib to avoid an outburst, and refused to speak to anyone.

"I think we need to consider talking to the other pack's here," Stiles had argued over the phone.

"Stiles, Derek and I agree with Peter," Scott has said firmly. "Deaton and Morrell, even Martin and Trisha--they all think there's a reason someone left the cub with you and not an actual werewolf in an Austin pack. It's not worth the risk to try and find her a home in Austin. She was abandoned to you, and she's now one of ours, so we're going to do everything we can to take care of her, and the reality is that most of us are not knowledgeable enough to do anything besides Peter. I know this is hard, Stiles. I mean, I can't even imagine how this is going to impact you. But Peter will help! And we might even be able to send Isaac down at some point, too."

Stiles had let the words wash over him, but he had heard very little after "Derek and I agree with Peter." So now he was a fucking father, with Peter for all intents and purposes as his fucking partner. It was too much. Locked away in his room,

Stiles dialed Lydia's number. She picked up immediately.

"Stiles! I've wanted to call you for ages, but I haven't been sure if it would be a good time."

"I have to keep her," Stiles said numbly into his cell phone.

"What?" Lydia said breathlessly.

"She's mine now. And Peter's staying here for the rest of the semester."

Lydia swore spectacularly. 

"Lydia, what do I do?"

"Stiles, you're going to be fine," she said, her voice matter of fact. But then, more gently, "You've already survived so much, and you'll survive this too."

" _Lydia, I am not cut out to be a mother_!" Stiles shrieked, and Lydia couldn't help but laugh.

"But you look so cute in an apron."

Stiles groaned and fell sideways onto the mattress. "Everything's going to change," he said weakly.

"Yeah. It will," Lydia agreed. "But you're not going to be alone. You have the whole pack supporting you. And you'll have help in Austin."

"Yeah, but the help is  _Peter_."

"I heard that," Stiles heard muffled through his closed door.

"Such my dick, Peter!" he yelled back.

"Did you just say that in front of the baby?" asked Lydia.

"Her name is Nova," Stiles said. "And yes. Something tells me she's going to hear a lot worse considering Peter and I will be stuck under the same small roof for the next five months."

"Nova," Lydia said thoughtfully. "That's pretty."

"Thanks," Stiles said, and he couldn't help but smile. "She doesn't have a last name yet." 

"Well, you know, I've always thought 'Martin' had a nice strong ring to it."

Stiles wanted to laugh, but he just couldn't bring himself to do it. Instead he sat in silence, and Lydia let him.

"I'll let you get back to being a math genius now," Stiles eventually said.

"You know I'm here for you, Stilinski. Never forget it."

"I won't," Stiles assured her. "I'll talk to you later, Lydia."

"I'll be waiting, then," Lydia replied. Then, she added carefully: "And Stiles? Watch out for Peter."

 

+

 

Stiles’ dad took a cab to the airport the next morning. Though they knew it was useless, what with Peter’s super hearing, they stood outside Stiles’ apartment, Nova held tightly in her new honorary granddad’s arms, and had a final conversation.

“I’m not going to tell you this will be easy,” Stiles’ father said. “It’s likely going to be the hardest thing you’ve ever done—and I’m really unhappy you have to struggle with this now when you should be at your most carefree point.”

Stiles swallowed and nodded, but he couldn’t bear to speak, so his father continued.

“Peter’s going to help you. We both have to believe that. But don’t you dare let him boss you around, you hear me Stiles?”

“I do,” Stiles said thickly. “And I won’t.”

“Good,” replied his dad. Then he nuzzled his cheek along Nova’s sideburns (she had them more often than she didn’t) and kissed the crown of her head. “She’s special, Stiles. For all that she’s inconvenient, she’s also kind of a gift. Take care of her.” Then he handed Nova to Stiles and enveloped them both in a hug.

His cab arrived just as he was pulling back, and not two minutes later Stiles watched his dad disappear into the Austin distance.

“Your father is right, you know,” Peter said when Stiles walked back inside.

“He usually is,” Stiles agreed.

“She’s a gift,” Peter said seriously. “We must always treat her like one.”

Stiles looked at Peter, surprised at the earnestness of the sentiment. “We will,” he said, and he meant it.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I've got through chapter 7 drafted and I know how about 90% of the rest of the story is going to play out. Point being, THIS FIC IS DEFINITELY GONNA BE FINISHED WOW I CAN'T EVEN BELIEVE IT. It's so weird to even be working on it now, frankly.
> 
> Anyway, thanks to everyone who's been reading and subscribing and leaving comments and kudos. I'm overwhelmed with how many of you seem to dig this fic. Gonna continue to do my best not to disappoint! 
> 
> Also should take a minute to say I'm not sure how often I'll be updating once the week starts. I'm trying not to publish chapters till I have another draft written for the sake of ensuring you guys are never left for weeks at a time without an update. So while it might not be daily, you should still get a few new chapters this week. Hopefully.


	4. Chapter 4

Living with Peter was strange to say the least. He was tidy, which didn't entirely surprise Stiles. Neither was Stiles shocked at his ability to cook, which Peter put into use early on when it became clear that Stiles' ability as a chef extended to pasta and enchiladas and nothing else. What did surprise Stiles was Peter's obsession with making sure the apartment was locked up. At first Stiles thought it had to do with being especially cautious for the sake of Nova, but when Stiles' complained to Scott about Peter's almost compulsive need to check that all the windows and doors were locked at least twice before bed, even when they had not been unlocked earlier in the day, the alpha had agreed it was strange but something Peter had done excessively back in Beacon Hills, too. Peter was also not a morning person, which was unfortunate because Stiles absolutely was.

But he was excellent with Nova, which was in some ways frustrating for Stiles, who wanted no reason to find Peter remotely likable. Peter had gone all out when purchasing items for Nova now that she was permanently staying with Stiles. The prettiest crib, the cutest onesies, the most expensive diapers, they all went to Nova; Peter would have nothing less for his new pack baby. He also spent a significant amount of time cuddling with Nova. Perhaps too much time, but they needed Nova to bond with Peter quickly so that Stiles could resume work and school without her driving Peter and the neighbors up the wall as soon as possible. It seemed to be working. Within days of Peter's arrival, Stiles was able to leave the apartment for brief periods of time without Nova becoming distressed. A few days after that, he could be gone for an hour. After Stiles' week away from campus life was up, Nova could thankfully go without him for a few hours at a time, made easier by short phone calls between classes that at least allowed her to hear Stiles' voice.

In order to best keep the peace, Peter and Stiles reinstated their "if you don't have something nice to say" policy that they had cultivated back when Stiles was in high school and reading Peter’s books, which meant they spoke to each other relatively little. They talked mostly about Nova and only very little about Stiles' schoolwork or Peter's research interests, which were much better served in Austin where there were entire bookstores dedicated to supernatural-based scholarship. At least once a week Peter came home with a new book he had found at some little shop, and he seemed to be constantly reading.

"You know, we had an original edition of this before the fire," Peter said one night while Stiles' was reading one of his course packets with Nova in his lap. 

"Let me see the cover," Stiles said, and Peter turned the book towards Stiles and held it still.  _Lupus et Luna_ read the title. Stiles raised his eyebrows. "Is that in Latin or a translated copy?"

Peter scoffed. "Latin, obviously." Stiles rolled his eyes. He did that a lot around Peter.

"It's a good book?" asked Stiles.

"Eh, it's not great," Peter said with a shrug. "A lot of it's too mystical for my tastes, but it's an iconic work, and I've been hunting for a replacement copy for years."

"Yeah, when it comes to books Austin' pretty much got it covered."

"Do you read often? I didn't see a lot of books around."

Stiles nodded. He’d been around Peter long enough now to know the comment had no ulterior motive to insult. "I borrow from the library mostly, but sometimes I wander over to BookPeople or Half Price when I feel a little rich."

"We'll need some books for Nova soon enough," Peter said.

"Hell yes," Stiles agreed, then he dropped a kiss to her head. "She's going to be a smarty pants, especially with you and I as dads." 

Peter stiffened. Stiles went red.

"I mean, you know..." but he trailed off, uncertain of another way to explain what he had meant.

"It's fine," Peter said quickly. "I know what you meant." Then he buried his nose back in his book. 

Stiles continued to look like a tomato for the next ten minutes.

They seemed to avoid a lot of discussions and potential arguments by simply dropping topics. Stiles thanked his lucky stars that he didn't know shit about werebabies, because it meant he had to trust Peter's judgment and advice instead of questioning him every step of the way. Stiles could only imagine how much more painful their lives would be if they were constantly arguing about child-rearing techniques. They mostly bickered in the aisles of Target and Babies'R'Us about the many outfits and toys Peter insisted on buying. Beyond the ridiculous expense, Stiles was frustrated because his apartment wasn't that large.

"There's literally nowhere for those to go," Stiles said as he gestured to the cart full of new things for Nova.

Peter continued walking along. "Nonsense," he said simply.

Stiles felt like pulling out his hair. When the woman at the register assumed they were a couple, the urge became almost unbearable to deny.

There were, of course, a variety of inconveniences to living with Peter and a baby. For one, Stiles' friends were no longer allowed at his apartment.

"Yeah, you know, my, uh, my uncle...he's fallen on hard times and he's got this kid, and he was blowing through Austin, and I just felt really bad, you know? So I said he could crash on my futon, but God knows how long he's going to stick around. And with the baby! There's shit everywhere guys. I mean, not, like, literally baby shit, but toys and bottles and clothes, and I mean, yeah sometimes actually baby shit, because, you know  _diapers_. But yeah, it's just a mess."

By the end, none of Stiles' friends wanted to visit anyway, and the topic was dropped. 

Dating also became next to impossible. Stiles couldn't feasibly bring anyone home to meet Nova and Peter. His story about Peter being his uncle wouldn't hold up to the scrutiny of anyone who intimately spent time with Stiles long term. And how on earth would he explain the way Nova randomly transitioned between human and werewolf without warning (which Peter claimed was perfectly normal) on top of the odd living situation? 

Studying for school became a lot more difficult too. At home, the intense clutter that not even Peter's tidy habits could contain combined with Nova's adorableness and Peter's general aura of "Don't Bother Me" to set Stiles on edge, which meant he now had to study in overcrowded coffee shops or the school library where he already spent plenty of time for work. 

And then there was simply the fact that Stiles had to adjust to living with two new human beings. His sleep schedule was off, he kept forgetting to pee with the door closed, and Peter had suddenly filled his fridge with a bunch of expensive looking food with funny names that Stiles was terrified of accidentally using. 

"You know, I won't kill you for eating any of my food, Stiles," Peter said one day while he watched Stiles root around in the fridge for something to eat that actually belonged to him.

Stiles continued his hunt for food. "That's nice of you, but it's the principle of the thing. I don't want to worry about paying you back for anything. But, I mean, thanks for saying."

"You wouldn't have to pay me back," said Peter.

"Still. Thanks, but no thanks." Then Stiles found the leftover Chinese from dinner two nights ago, and the discussion became moot.

There was undeniably tension, however. The sort of tension and unease that came from Stiles knowing he was living with a murderer who had attempted to kill one of his best friends. And Peter knew Stiles would never forget that. Always there was an awareness between the two of the subjects not being discussed, and while that meant few arguments were had, there was always a concern that one could erupt should the wrong thing be said. 

"You ready to head to the store?" Stiles asked Peter one evening.

"Yes, just give me a minute to grab my list. You grab Nova?"

Stiles nodded and picked Nova up from her play pen. Peter ripped his list off the pad in the kitchen then made his way over to the end table by the couch to put out the stick on incense he had lit. Stiles didn't especially care for the incense, but Peter inexplicably liked it. Stiles had asked once why he did, given the strength of the smoke, but Peter had said it grounded him, that it overwhelmed the rest of his environment and gave him something to focus on when he felt things were spinning a little further outside of his control. Stiles had been surprised by the candor but wary of engaging any more with Peter’s more personal side, so he hadn’t asked any more questions. He also knew this place couldn't ever really feel like home for Peter, so he never complained about the one thing that helped Peter make it a little less foreign and chaotic. 

"Why'd you put it out?" Stiles asked, hoping that by the time they returned the stick would have burned down and the apartment would smell less like the pungent smoke, rather than putting it out now and having Peter re-light it upon return. "We're not going to be gone that long."

"It's a fire hazard," Peter said, his voice sounding almost stiff to Stiles' ears. 

"Peter, it's not like half a stick of incense is going to burn the whole place down." Stiles immediately realized what he had said, and he froze where he stood terrified of the tirade Peter was surely about to unleash on him.

But all Peter said was, "You never know." Though his voice most definitely had gone cold.

"Sorry," Stiles muttered. Peter only nodded.

Tension grew even higher on the days preceding and following the full moon. Peter could easily control himself the night of, but he was unbearably irritable the days leading up to his forced shift, to the point where even Nova could pick up on the strain.

There was also the occasional tiff about Nova. 

When Stiles pulled the laundry out of the community dryer, he found Nova's white onesie with the little brown bunnies suddenly orange. The bunnies, though, had somehow remained the same color brown. Stiles hurried back to his apartment and thrust the onesie in Peter's face.

"How the hell did this happen?" he demanded.

Peter looked up from his book. "Uh, you threw in some colors with the whites, like you always do, despite my suggestions otherwise."

"Then why is nothing else turned orange? And besides, you put the laundry in this time!" 

"I don't know then, Stiles. I didn't notice anything not white when I loaded the washer."

From her play pen, Nova gurgled happily and stretched out her arms.

"Well at least Nova seems to like the color change," muttered Stiles. "Sweetie, you're already dressed. You can wear this one tomorrow." Then he grabbed the laundry basket and made for his bedroom. From her pen, Nova began to cry. Stiles came back outside with the onesie still in his hand, and Nova went quiet.

"Not this again," Peter said with a frown.

"No, it can't be," Stiles said, looking down at the dyed onesie with a frown of his own. He went back into his room and put the onesie down as Nova began her crying again. He came back out to the living room with empty hands, and the crying continued. He grabbed the onesie and it stopped. Nova seemed determined to wear the now-orange garment. 

"You know I love Nova," Peter said, "but she can be really weird."

"With you as one of her guardians, I'm not surprised," said Stiles as he changed Nova's outfit.

Then there was the evening when Stiles put Nova to bed and gently pried her favorite toy, a small pink rattle, out of her hands.

"It's bedtime, little wolf. You can play with this again tomorrow." He put the beloved rattle on the nightstand and then returned to the living room and sat in the armchair to watch some television. Peter came back in from the bathroom. 

"You put Nova up?"

"Yep."

Peter went to the bedroom to wish her good night, then came back to the living room and lied down on the upright-futon. From the bedroom came the distinctive sound of Nova's favorite rattle.

"Jesus, Peter did you give her the toy back? I'm trying to get her to sleep."

"I didn't do anything," Peter said, affronted.

Stiles went to Nova's crib and saw the rattle. He picked it up and brought it into the living room. 

"God, Peter, you're so full of shit. It was right in her crib when before it had been on the side table. Sometimes you spoil her too much."

"Stiles, I didn't give her the damn toy. And I do  _not_ spoil her."

"That's a load of bull. All you fucking do is give her what she asks for. She's going to grow up to be an entitled little brat if you don't stop. And like hell I believe you didn't give her the toy. She didn't crawl out of the crib and get it herself."

"You know what, if you have such a problem with the way I'm taking care of her, then take it up with Scott."

"Just stop being afraid to say no to her and we'll be fine."

Peter scowled and Stiles huffed, but they both ended up on the futon watching Bravo, Peter’s feet pressed into Stiles’ thigh, as if the argument hadn’t even happened.

 

+

 

Time passed, as time often does, and Stiles, Peter, and Nova settled into a certain routine. Stiles went to school and to work while Peter acted as a stay-at-home dad, his days punctuated by trips to the park and to bookstores, as well as frequent Skype calls to the pack back in Beacon Hills. None of the pack back home could get enough of Nova, who seemed to understand her popularity and therefore mugged for the webcam with shocking deliberateness for an eight month old child. Her unpredictable shifts between human and werewolf quickly became an unending source of entertainment for the people back in California, though at least one of them understood Nova’s condition wasn’t solely to be laughed at.

“Have you taken her to a charm shop yet?” Derek asked during a Skype call between him and Peter, Allison sitting off to Derek’s side making faces at Nova, Stiles off to Peter’s with Nova in his lap.

Peter shook his head. “Since it’s been cold, she wears hats outside which mostly cover her sideburns when she suddenly decides to sprout them. I’ll make it a priority this week, though.”

Allison’s attention snapped momentarily away from Nova. “Charm shop?”

“It’s not uncommon for werewolves to find a charm shop run by a local coven that sells little charms for helping cubs stop their random shifts between forms for the sake of keeping our identities hidden,” Peter explained. “That way babies too young to control it themselves can still be taken out in public without their packs worrying about there being an unwanted incident. Normally the emissary works this kind of thing out for a pack, but since we don’t have one, we have to go to a shop.”

“Makes sense,” Allison said, then promptly went back to cooing at Nova.

Derek rolled his eyes fondly, but then his expression became more serious. “You might want to think about a charm that cloaks her scent, too.”

Peter shrugged. “I don’t think that’s necessary.”

“I’ve tried to talk to him about this,” Stiles said. “He won’t budge.”

Derek gave Peter a pointed look. “Scott thinks it’s something we need to seriously consider. Deaton, too.”

Peter’s voice came out hard and sharp. “If we mask her scent from other werewolves, then we mask it from me, too. I can’t tolerate that for an extended period of time, which is what you’re asking me to do.”

Derek’s look softened. “We have to think about more than ourselves, though, Peter,” he said quietly.

“I’m not talking about this anymore. Until Scott demands we do it, we won’t.” Then Peter stood from the dining table and left the apartment all together.

Nova, who was almost frustratingly sensitive to the moods of her caretakers, began to quiver, the starting of a sob-fest building in her lips.

“That’s our cue to go, I think,” Stiles said with a sigh. “Look, we’ll get the charm for her shifts this week, but let’s have a little more time to think about the masking shield, okay?”

Derek nodded. “Fine. I’ll tell Scott.”

Allison waved goodbye, and Stiles waved Nova’s hand back at them. “Love you both,” he said with a smile.

“Love you both, too,” Derek replied, and then the call was done.

 

+

 

Peter came back about fifteen minutes later. Stiles turned, ready to speak, but Peter beat him to it.

“I still don’t want to talk about cloaking her scent.”

Stiles refrained from rolling his eyes, though it was difficult. “I was just going to say that I told Derek to tell Scott to give us more time to think about it. He said he would, so relax a little bit, okay?”

Peter rolled his shoulders and nodded stiffly. “I don’t feel much like cooking. Want to go out tonight?”

Stiles nodded. “Only if we can get Thai food.”

Peter exhaled, and smiled, the grin looking only a little forced. “Of course.”

 

+

 

They ended up not getting the cloaking shield charm when they went to pick up the shift charm. When Scott announced his decision to leave her scent be, Peter spent the rest of the day cleaning the house cheerily, like some kind of demented Cinderella, and dropping kisses on Nova’s head every ten minutes. He talked to Stiles like they were actually friends—which, Stiles supposed, they more or less were by this point—and fixed a sumptuous dinner that involved a good portion of all of Stiles’ favorite things.

After their meal, Peter treated the three of them to an outing at the movies for a kid-friendly feature, and even Stiles found himself riding Peter’s giddy high to the point where, when Peter casually draped the arm that wasn’t holding Nova over Stiles’ shoulder and began rubbing his thumb in small circles along the top of Stiles’ arm, he simply relaxed into the touch.

And when Stiles began to doze on the futon once they were back at home, Nova still in Peter’s lap while Peter paid half attention to the local evening news, he continued to let Peter into his personal space, the older man pressed up against Stiles on the couch, one of Stiles’ hands resting on Peter’s thigh, and Peter’s arm once again resting along the back of his neck and shoulders. He knew he’d regret this later, but for now he just let it happen and let himself enjoy it. It felt nice. _This_ felt nice.

 _They_ felt nice.


	5. Chapter 5

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Two chapters tonight, because this one is so short it hardly merits posting on its own, and since there was a bigger gap between previous postings then I intended, I figured you guys deserved a little more when I finally got around to posting again.

The touching didn’t continue after that particular evening. There were, of course, still casual, unavoidable touches between the pair—knees knocking under Stiles’ small dining table, hands brushing when they passed Nova from one to the other—but the deliberately intimate placement of hands and arms did not repeat, and Stiles would have been happy to dismiss their one night of unexpected physical affection if he only could have.

Before Stiles knew it, spring break had descended upon him, and he realized he’d been living with Peter and Nova for almost two months. It had been an insane two months at that, with school, work, and his domestic life all working in tandem to kick his ass, and Stiles was desperately ready for a break.

He was already beginning to think he was losing his mind. He couldn’t count the number of times he’d gone into his room to grab something for Nova, only to find the item he was sure he’d put in one place was now sitting innocently in another, usually by Nova herself. When he’d finally snapped at Peter for moving all his things around as some kind of irritating joke, Peter had denied any involvement, and Stiles was finally starting to accept he was simply going crazy. A break was definitely in order. And alcohol, too, if he could manage it. When a friend invited him to a house party the Friday before break officially started, Peter took one look at Stiles’ desperate, hopeful face and told him to get the fuck out of the apartment and have a good time.

And boy, Stiles did.

When Stiles got back he was thoroughly drunk. He wouldn't go so far as to say he was _wasted_ , but he was definitely  _drunk_. Peter was still awake, sitting on the couch with a book, Nova already in her crib, and he gave Stiles an unimpressed look as he stumbled into the living room, singing a song out of tune.

" _That party dress is such a mess ! You'll need me one day, need me one day soon_!” Stiles tripped over a shoe and landed on the couch with a laugh. “Heeey, Pete!" Stiles exclaimed before launching back into his song. “ _All this love of mine, all my precious time_!”

"Hello, Stiles. Had a good time, I see." Peter wasn't angry so much as he was irritated about having to deal with a belligerent Stiles at two in the morning.

"You know what, I did!" Stiles said with a happy smile, then he pulled himself up to sit next to Peter, his body so close that his thigh rested snugly alongside the werewolf's. "Thanks for letting me go out tonight."

Peter nodded, not moving his thigh. "You make it sound like I’m your keeper. But you're welcome.”

They went without talking for a moment while Stiles hummed to himself and Peter got up to check that Nova was still sleeping, despite Stiles’ volume level.

"So, was getting drunk with your friends as delightful as you remembered it being?" Peter asked after he settled back on the couch, his body just as near Stiles’ as before.

"Fuck yeah it was," Stiles said. "Dude, I almost got laid, too. But then I remembered I had to come home, which is totally cool, you know. I'm, like, a  _dad_  now. I can't be banging random dudes I meet at parties anymore, ja feel?"

Peter was frozen. It was clear he did not, in fact, "ja feel." That Stiles slept with men was new information, and Peter was having a hard time computing. 

"That is a loss," he finally said.

"Nah," Stiles replied. "He wasn't that hot. I was just desperate. It was nice to be flirted with, you know? I like the attention, like anybody would."

Peter turned his head slowly to face Stiles. "You should have said something," he told Stiles, lifting one arm to rest on the back of the couch and behind Stiles' head. "I could have been giving you all kinds of attention this whole time."

Stiles laughed nervously as he realized this was the first time he’d been so close to Peter in weeks. "Shut up, Peter.”

"I'm not kidding," Peter continued, then he leaned in to Stiles. "God knows you've grown up well."

Stiles found himself leaning forward as well. "I might be drunk, but I still know when you're being a pervert." Though Stiles didn't seem to mind. He was running out of air, and suddenly he felt very hot. He didn't think it was just due to the alcohol. Without allowing himself to think too hard about it, Stiles set his hand on Peter’s thigh, something he hadn’t done since the night they went out to the movies, and tilted his head slightly. 

"I'm starting to think you like it," Peter whispered. 

"Are you just going to talk all night?"

Peter huffed out a laugh and then shook his head. He moved in closer, lips preparing to meet Stiles'.

Which is when Nova gurgled out a muted cry from the bedroom. It struck Stiles like a slap to the face.

"Oh fuck," he muttered, standing from the couch. "I need to go to bed  _now_. My bed I mean. Alone."

Peter said nothing at first. Then he sighed. "Good night, Stiles."

Then Stiles rushed to his room and slammed the door shut.

 

+

 

"So, thanks for only  _mildly_  taking advantage of the fact that I was drunk last night."

Peter looked up from his toast. "I have no idea what you're talking about."

"Somebody needs to check up on their consent etiquette," Stiles said. "Though I suspect somebody probably wouldn't care either way."

Peter smirked.

Stiles made himself a bowl of cereal and then joined Peter and Nova at the table. He took her from her high chair and set her in his lap, kissing the top of her head. "I do appreciate that you took care of her while I was out, though," Stiles said grudgingly. 

"It was obviously my pleasure," Peter said. "I love taking care of her."

Stiles felt some of his anger soften. Fuck, but Peter confused him so much.

"So do you want to talk about last night?" Peter asked innocently.

Stiles blushed. "There's nothing to talk about."

"I don't know," Peter said. "I would just hate for there to be any...unspoken tension between us."

Stiles felt his anger grow again. The only person who'd cause unspoken tension was Peter himself. "I was drunk and horny and you were a perverted douche. My whole, I don't know, getting all hot and bothered around you thing last night didn't mean anything beyond that."

Peter looked unconvinced. "Well, look, if you ever want to make anything happen while you're sober, I'm just saying you don't have to go to parties and 'bang random dudes' if you'd prefer not to."

"Oh my God," Stiles groaned, burying his face in Nova's sparse hair. "You are so fucked up, Peter."

"I stand by what I said last night," Peter said lightly.

Stiles unfortunately knew exactly what Peter meant.

_I'm starting to think you like it._

Fuck, so was Stiles.


	6. Chapter 6

Stiles began to feel something grow and swell between Peter and himself. Whether that thing was good or bad or some combination of both, he couldn’t yet tell, but every day it expanded like a balloon between them, waiting for the right moment to pop spectacularly.

Part of it was related to Stiles’ drunken night and the new understanding that Peter likely wanted to have sex with him. Sometimes Stiles thought they had always been more or less dancing around this point since the day Peter grabbed Stiles’ wrist and offered to gift him the bite. The day Stiles had said no and Peter, who respected no one and no one’s boundaries, had in that moment respected him and his.

And part of it was related to the fact that Peter Hale was still Peter Hale and always would be, no matter how many times Stiles forgot as he watched Peter burp Nova or sing her to sleep. But he never failed to remember when Peter joked about going out hunting on full moon nights, or when he occasionally talked about life in the original Hale house as if he hadn’t been fucking over various members of his family since he was a teenager.

Peter had been reminiscing one evening about growing up in a house full of werewolf children while Stiles flipped through the TV while slumped in the armchair when Stiles found he could no longer keep quiet about Peter’s apparent hypocrisy. An hypocrisy that suddenly felt more dangerous in light of Peter’s relationship with Nova.

“Quit talking about your family like they meant anything to you,” Stiles snapped, and Peter looked at him, taken aback.

“Excuse me.”

“You heard me. You’d been screwing over your family for years before you got around to killing one of them and almost killing another. So stop talking about the good ol’ days like all the shit that happened after doesn’t change everything.”

“I loved my family,” Peter said calmly. “And I still do.”

“Then why did you kill Laura, Peter?”

Peter’s arms were folded, and he held Stiles’ gaze steadily with his own. “I was different then,” he said.

“Like hell!” exclaimed Stiles. “You’re the same manipulative, dangerous bastard you were then. You just hide it better.”

“I’m not going to deny being manipulative and dangerous,” Peter said calmly. “But I _was_ different those years ago.” He paused a moment and looked away from Stiles. “I had seen most of my family die, Stiles. Burning alive, trapped inside the house, their skin melting and stinking before me while mine did the same.”

Stiles felt his stomach turn, wanted to say _the same family you helped destroy_ , but Peter continued.

“I knew who’d done it. I’d always known the Argents were smart, organized, and dangerous. But I didn’t realize they were fucking insane until that day. For years in the hospital I really was locked inside my head, reliving those awful moments on a constant loop. For _years_ , Stiles. All I could think about was getting revenge. But to do that I needed power. And in order to get power, sacrifices needed to be made. Laura was one of them. Derek was another when he got in my way. And Lydia, too. Of course I always knew Lydia wouldn’t die.”

Here Stiles all but growled at Peter.

“Come on now, Stiles. If I had bitten—“

“You mean mauled.”

“If I had _bitten_ Lydia drastically enough to result in her death, then that would have very much so defeated the purpose, wouldn’t it have? I needed her alive. She was never really in any danger.”

Stiles could take it no longer. He rushed to Peter, yanked him from the futon (the surprise of the moment surely the only reason why he was able to do it), and socked him square on the jaw. Of course, Peter was unharmed. Stiles, however, felt like he’d broken his hand.

“ _God fucking damnit!_ ” Stiles roared, and immediately Nova began sobbing from Stiles’ bedroom.

“Now see what you’ve done,” Peter said with a long-suffering sigh. “I’d only just gotten her to sleep.”

Stiles fell back onto the armchair, clutching his hand to his chest, tears blurring his vision.

“Get up,” Peter demanded. “I need to see if you broke anything with your idiocy.”

Nova cried the entire time Peter examined Stiles’ hand, determining nothing was wrong with it and then fixing up Stiles a bag of ice. Because she would not cease crying, and because Peter was still angry at Stiles, he took Nova outside and left Stiles alone in the bathroom, the makeshift icepack doing nothing for his injured hand but numbing his good one. Stiles sat on the toilet, stewing in his fury and almost blinded by the pain in his wrist and fingers.

Half an hour later Peter came back inside with a quieted werecub, whom he deposited back in her crib, and then took a seat on the bathroom floor.

“Is she okay?” Stiles asked, his voice faint.

Peter nodded. “How’s the hand?”

“It fucking hurts, what do you think?” Stiles answered, trying to keep his voice down.

Peter sighed. “Give it here.”

Stiles shook his head vigorously.

“Stiles,” Peter insisted, “give it here.”

Slowly Stiles extended his had to Peter, his eyes screwed shut, the icepack melting and dripping in the sink. Peter softly, oh-so softly, took Stiles’ hand into his own. At first Stiles let out a pathetic cry, a fresh wave of nausea hitting his stomach and a few fat tears leaking down his cheeks. But then the pain subsided. The nausea receded. He felt his body go lax, and he turned his head to look at Peter.

“Thank you,” he said, and he hoped his voice sounded as sincere as he meant.

Peter nodded but said nothing. They sat in the bathroom, Peter essentially holding Stiles’ hand for the next half an hour until finally most of the pain was gone and the swelling in his knuckles had gone down.

 

+

 

When they finally left the bathroom, Stiles fell on the couch with a groan.

“I can’t believe I pulled a Bella Swan,” he muttered.

Peter followed Stiles into the living room. “I don’t understand that reference, and I won’t respond to it,” he said as he took the armchair.

Stiles looked at him with surprise. “Did you just...?”

Peter smiled. “I enjoy some television, Stiles.”

Stiles snorted. “Who knew?”

“I can’t undo the past,” Peter said suddenly. “And I don’t regret it. I did what I felt needed to be done. I can’t worry about whether others approve or not. And quite frankly that’s how I’ll continue to operate.”

Stiles shook his head. “How can anyone trust you, then, Peter? If you’re idea of doing what needs to be done can involve murdering family members? Aren’t pack members family? Would you kill Nova if it helped you get by in life?”

“You know I wouldn’t,” said Peter.

“No, I don’t,” Stiles countered. “If you don’t regret killing Laura, your own flesh and blood, what’s to stop you from murdering Nova, or me, or fucking Scott, our _alpha_?”

“You’re overlooking the part where I was a bit mentally unhinged when I killed Laura,” Peter said, irritation leaking into his words.

“Yeah, I’m overlooking it in favor of focusing on the part where you said you don’t regret it now, as a supposedly sane person.”

“I don’t regret it because it served its purpose at the time. Or rather, it served the purpose that my grief-stricken mind needed it to. I’m never ever going to be in that place again, Stiles, so I’ll never ever react that same way.”

Stiles didn’t buy it for a second, but he was just too wiped out to keep fighting.

“Fine,” he said. “This is useless to talk about. You did what you did. I guess there’s nothing else to say.”

Peter let out an exasperated sigh. “That’s exactly what I’ve been trying to explain.”

Stiles released a joyless laugh. “Okay, Peter.” He stood from the couch, his legs a little wobbly. “I’m going to bed.”

Peter said nothing, and Stiles was grateful.

Stiles thought things with Peter couldn’t get any more difficult, but when he woke up the next morning and found the walls of his bedroom had suddenly turned purple, he began to realize things could _always_ get worse.


	7. Chapter 7

Moments after waking the next morning, Stiles was screaming Peter’s name, Nova immediately beginning to wail, and a hot minute later Peter was inside Stiles’ room, torn between hovering over Nova’s crib and pummeling Stiles right there in his bed for raising such an alarm.

“What the fuck is wrong with you, Stiles?” he snapped.

Stiles gestured around the room. “I think we’d be better off asking what the fuck is wrong with my bedroom.”

Peter looked at the walls, and his mouth fell open. “What the fuck,” he repeated. They had transformed from their previous white into a spectacularly loud shade of purple. "You're certainly not getting your deposit back."

Stiles shook his head in disbelief. “So, uh…I’m starting to think I understand why Nova’s pack didn’t want her anymore.”

Peter stared down in shock at the crying baby in the crib. “You really think she did this?”

“I think if Nova had magic, it’d explain a whole hell of a lot of what’s been going on around here.” And it did. The rattle finding its way back into her crib, her onesie changing color, the dozen other things that had inexplicably moved or changed slightly. Nova had been doing it all.

“We need to call Scott now. And Deaton, too.”

 

+

 

It wasn’t a pleasant call. Scott, Derek, and Deaton met Stiles’ and Peter’s worried eyes with their own anxious ones, and though the disparate groups were separated by hundreds of miles, a shared sense of distress was felt all the same throughout the Skype call.

“Is it even possible for a werewolf to have magic?” Stiles asked, Nova cradled in his arms and pleasantly distracted by the shiny zipper on his hoodie.

“Technically werewolves already _are_ magic,” explained Deaton. “But the kind of magic they have is different to the kind of magic that a witch has, which is the sort Nova appears to be exerting.”

“Okay,” said Derek tersely, “then is it possible for a werewolf to have this kind of magic?”

“I’ve certainly never heard of it happening,” replied Peter.

“It’s rare,” said Deaton. “And dangerous. Different types of magic aren’t generally compatible with each other, which is why witches tend to be so volatile around other magical creatures. If turned into something else, like a werewolf for example, it means almost certain death.”

Scott released a shaky breath. “Jesus, Deaton.”

Stiles was barely processing the words that had just come out of Deaton’s mouth. _It means almost certain death_. So this was how this story ended? With Nova dead? He couldn’t bear the thought. He looked to Peter, the only other person who might understand the great and terrible dread growing in the pit of his stomach, and found another wave of shock hit when he caught Peter’s expression.

It might not have translated to the people on screen, but to Stiles Peter’s sudden terror was plain as day. All color had drained out of his features, and every part of his body was suddenly thrumming with tension. Stiles was glad he had been holding Nova, or he thought she might have been injured by Peter, trapped in his unexpectedly vice-like grip.

Neither spoke, so Deaton hurried on. “The good news is that those uncommon individuals who are _born_ with both types of magic have, as far as the small handful of anecdotal examples are concerned, lived without issue.”

The quiet dam of Peter’s upset broke instantly, and he lunged forward towards the computer screen. “I swear to god, Deaton, if we were in the same room I’d have my claws in your throat—”

“ _Peter_!” Stiles barked, and it was like Stiles was evoking a charm of his own. Peter snapped his mouth shut, made himself lean back into his seat, and forcibly relaxed his shoulders. In his arms, Nova began the first quiet sounds of distress as she picked up on the mood of the men around her.

On the computer screen, Derek looked obviously surprised, his lips slightly parted and his eyes wide. Stiles had too much to think about at the moment, so he filed the reaction away for later.

“Then I’m glad we’re not in the same room,” continued Deaton, “because you’re really not going to like what I have to say next.” Stiles looked at Peter warily and then braced himself.

“If disguising Nova’s scent was advisable before, it’s necessary now.”

“No,” said Peter, his voice firm. “I won’t allow it. Besides, she’ll still smell like wolf thanks to me anyway.”

“Peter,” said Scott, his own voice a warning. Stiles may have controlled Peter’s first outburst, but Scott was taking the reins now. “This is no longer something you have a say in.”

“Why though?” Stiles asked, because while he would respect his alpha’s decision, he also understood the grief behind Peter’s refusal.

“Look, I don’t know how to truly convey to you how uncommon pups like Nova are,” said Deaton, and Nova turned to the computer screen as if only just deciding there were people there worth noticing. “I know of two others _total_ mentioned in any of the books I’ve read or from any of the people I’ve met. And most other emissaries know of none. There’s a good chance the alpha of Nova’s natural pack, not knowing of any others like Nova, would have had her put to death.”

“That’s barbaric,” came Derek’s low voice.

But Deaton shook his head. “Like I’ve said, they probably wouldn’t have known about the other born witch-wolf hybrids, and given the fate of the other bitten ones, they likely would have thought it a mercy. And what’s more, they probably would have been right.”

“I can’t listen to this,” spat Peter, abruptly standing.

“Peter!” Scott said sharply at the same time that Stiles said softly, “Peter, please.”

But Peter would not listen. And then he was gone. Nova began to cry.

Stiles began to rock her. “What about what Peter said about Nova still smelling like him. He’s a werewolf, so she’ll still smell like one.”

“But it won’t be _her_ scent,” said Deaton. “Another werewolf might pick up on Peter’s scent, but they’ll know it doesn’t belong to her. They’ll smell you and Peter and your apartment and will just think she’s human with mixed parents. A wolf would have to really try hard to notice she doesn’t have a personal scent of her own, and even then it’s not entirely unheard of for a child so young. Personal scents are present, but still developing. I don’t think any werewolf would think twice about the way she smells so long as she doesn’t smell like a werewolf, especially a werewolf from a local pack.”

“So how do we do this?” asked Stiles, and if his voice sounded hollow, no one felt the need to comment.

 

+

 

They did it like this: Stiles took Nova to a witch named Vera who Deaton trusted out in Houston, who bathed Nova in some kind of herb bath, sprinkled her in some kind dried flower concoction that made Stiles want to sneeze, and then stuffed some kind of wolfsbane into a spelled pouch which was attached to a thin leather band which Vera then fastened around Nova’s ankle. She said very little, and what words did come out of her mouth were gruff and brief.

“She can’t take that off or the charm will break. Once it’s back on it’ll go up again, but I’d rather it didn’t break to start. Bring her back every six weeks to re-strengthen the cloaking.”

Stiles had nodded and reached for his wallet, but Vera jerked her head, _no_. “I owe Deaton a favor. Too many of them. I won’t accept any more debt.” Then she had turned away and gone back to organizing her many stores of dried herbs, flowers, and spices that she kept stocked in her small charm shop.

It had been five days since Nova’s scent have been blocked from every werewolf who might have smelled her, including Peter, and while Stiles knew the man could act when he needed to, he knew Peter’s quick descent into frustration and rage was no performance.

Peter was almost impossible to be around, and Stiles was having a hard time keeping it together. No matter how many times he called Scott or Derek or Deaton desperate for advice, for answers, no one could tell him how to calm Peter down.

Finally one night while Stiles tried to drown out the sound of Peter tossing and turning on the creaky futon, something inside Peter must have snapped. He barged into Stiles’ room, snatched Nova out of her crib, and shoved the pair of them into Stiles’ bed.

“Peter! What the fuck?”

Peter looked at Stiles with crazed eyes. “If I can’t smell her as she really is, then I can smell _you_ on her.”

“Peter, that doesn’t make any sense,” Stiles said, trying not to freak out about Peter sharing his goddamned bed with him.

Peter released a shaky breath. “The cloaking charm means I can’t smell the scent that comes directly from her. The scent that marks her as my unique, beloved, little werewolf girl. The scent that’s been tickling my nose in the most…perfect fucking way for months now. But the shield doesn’t block the scents she takes on from her surroundings. Like you, Stiles. I can’t, god, I can’t talk about this anymore. Just let me sleep here tonight with you both. Fucking _please_ , Stiles.”

It was the “please” that did it. Stiles nodded mutely and adjusted himself and Nova better.

“Thank you,” Peter said, and he sounded as earnest as Stiles had ever heard him before.

“You’re welcome,” Stiles mumbled back, though he still didn’t fully understand, and then the trio fell into an uncomfortable sleep.

The next morning Peter was the most settled Stiles had seen him in days. He was still a bit unkempt and a little manic, but he was less jittery than he had been previously.

“Are you going to explain last night to me now?” Stiles asked over breakfast.

Peter sighed. “It’s like I said. I can’t smell Nova for who she is, but I can smell what she picks up from her surroundings.”

“Yeah, I get that,” Stiles said, remembering Deaton’s words from the recent Skype call, “but why is it so important you smell _me_ on her as opposed to…I don’t know. Anything else familiar to you?”

Peter looked uncomfortable. At least, Stiles was pretty sure he did. He still struggled reading Peter sometimes, even after months of living in close contact with him.

“This is awkward to discuss,” Peter began. “So bear with me. Ever since moving in with you and taking care of Nova, my instincts—and to a lesser degree, my hormones—have changed and heightened and attuned themselves to both Nova…and you.”

Stiles laughed before he could stop himself. “That’s bullshit.”

Peter released a long-suffering sigh. “I’m not saying my instincts and hormones have made me _like_ you, I’m just saying that something in me that isn’t human or rational or logical recognizes you as Nova’s other caretaker, and therefore as, for lack of better word, my partner. So now that I can’t smell Nova, which is…immeasurably difficult for me, you have to understand, the closest thing to her that my instincts and senses can cling to is _you_. It has nothing to do with emotion and everything to do my biology and my instincts.” Here Peter took a moment to sip his coffee, which gave Stiles the opportunity to think through everything Peter had just said.

“So,” Stiles began slowly, “if you can get Nova to smell overwhelmingly of me, then it helps you deal with the fact that she doesn’t smell like…her?”

“Exactly,” Peter confirmed.

“How can I help the process?” Peter looked surprised for a moment that Stiles would help so willingly, but Stiles was just grateful to have some kind of answer to the conflict that he’d likely have tried anything to ease the situation.

“Be more tactile with Nova—maybe even keep articles of her clothing—socks, hats, what have you—on your physical person throughout the day. I mean, she already smells like you, but every little bit helps. And try to have more skin-on-skin contact if possible.” Peter paused to take another sip of coffee. “And, as much as you can tolerate it, being more tactile with me would help as well. The more nuance of your own scent I understand, the more I can recognize it on Nova.”

Stiles went a little pale at that. “How tactile do you want me to be exactly?”

“You’re not going to like it.”

Which is how Stiles found himself readying for bed that night knowing he’d have Peter sleeping right alongside him.

“This is going to be awkward, and I do apologize for that,” Peter said as he crawled in next to Stiles.

Stiles released a breath and nodded, and then Peter scooted up along his back, spooning Stiles against him, and then buried his nose in the crook of Stiles’ neck. His breath tickled the hairs there, and Stiles felt himself break out in goosebumps.

“Sorry,” Peter said, and his voice sounded thick—almost drunk. Stiles could feel the drag of Peter’s lips against his skin as he spoke.

“It’s okay,” he muttered, even though he wasn’t sure it was.

When Stiles finally fell asleep, it was with Peter plastered fully to the back him, his breath coming out in even puffs that warmed the back of Stiles’ neck. He thought perhaps he could get used to this, and then immediately promised himself that he would not.

 

+ 

 

Stiles woke in the morning to an empty bed and Nova already out of her crib. When he walked out of the bedroom, he found Peter in the kitchen making breakfast, a pot of coffee already gurgling away.

“I take it you feel better,” Stiles said a little uncertainly.

“I do, thank you.”

Stiles took a seat at the table and watched Peter pour him a cup a coffee, then add the exact amount of cream and sugar Stiles preferred before setting it gently down in front of him. Some new feeling blossomed in Stiles chest, and for the life of him he could not tell if it was pleasure of dread. But then Nova was smearing carrot all along Peter’s tee shirt, peals of laughter following, and Stiles took the opportunity to stop thinking about the warmth of Peter’s hand on his hip, his fingers slipped just slightly under the hem of Stiles’ sleep shirt so that skin had rested hotly on skin.


	8. Chapter 8

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I fucked up because I went through and revised/restructured all my previous chapters. What is now chapter seven used to be chapter eight (this chapter). I've updated this fic with the REAL chapter eight, but I want to be sure everyone's appropriately caught up so that things don't read funny! Sorry for the awkwardness. This is what I get for writing and revising and publishing as I go. ROOKIE AO3 MISTAKE, I WAGER. So, to be clear: IF YOU SUBSCRIBE TO THIS FIC AND GOT THE EMAIL SAYING EIGHT IS PUBLISHED, GO CHECK OUT SEVEN INSTEAD, THEN COME BACK AND READ EIGHT. <3 <3 <3

Peter fell atop the futon with a sigh that morphed into a groan. “I’m tired and everything hurts,” he whined. The first full moon since losing Nova’s scent had been especially difficult for him, so many of his senses desperate to pick up on Nova and unable to do so.

Stiles grinned. “Your age is showing.” Better to tease about that than talk about the real reason.

Peter’s eyes snapped open and flashed blue. “Bite your tongue, or I’ll bite it for you.”

Stiles grinned wider, and after a moment Peter sighed again, his face collapsing back into exhaustion. Stiles stayed standing, bouncing Nova gently and singing “Nova Baby” quietly to her as he moved.

“I could watch you with her all day,” Peter said softly from the couch.

Stiles felt his face go hot. “Yeah?” he asked, because he wasn’t sure what else to say.

“Yeah,” Peter agreed. Then he shook his head. “Werewolf hormones suck.”

Stiles looked at Peter sideways. “I thought you said hormones wouldn’t influence your emotions. By that logic it means they have nothing to do with how much you seem to like me these days.” Stiles wasn’t sure why he was pushing this, forcing Peter to talk about the subtle change in their relationship that had nothing and everything to do with the fact that they were now sharing a bed.

“Sit with me,” Peter said, patting the spot next to him.

Stiles hesitated a moment, Nova stilling in his arms.

“I’m not going to do anything,” Peter said.

Stiles didn’t really believe him, but he nodded all the same. “Okay.” He took a seat next to Peter, close enough that their shoulders brushed.

Peter leaned further into Stiles’ side and put his hand over the one Stiles had placed on Nova’s back, his palm along the back of Stile’s hand and his fingers pressing lightly into Nova. “It isn’t fair that you’re not affected by her the way I am.”

Stiles shrugged, his hand hot under Peter’s. “Sometimes I think that isn’t really true.”

Peter huffed. “You don’t crave my touch the way that I crave yours, whether I want to or not.”

Stiles gulped. “And do you want to?”

Peter’s eyes were focused only on Nova’s face. “At this point, it doesn’t much matter what I want.”

There were moments when Stiles forgot who Peter Hale was. Moments when all he knew of Peter was that he loved pears and hated cilantro, that his favorite movie was _Notorious_ , and that he was, at his core, more of a cat person than a dog person. Times when all that came to Stiles’ mind when he thought of Peter was the way his face lit up when he saw Nova first thing in the morning, the way he stilled when he found a book he’d been searching intently for, the way he’d slot himself against Stiles’ side when they laid on his bed and napped with their child between them.

But sometimes Stiles remembered. Sometimes Stiles was able to remind himself that Peter was all artifice and illusion. That he knew how to get what he wanted, and that he was willing to wait years to get whatever it might be. In that moment, Peter looked the perfect picture of unwilling openness, of a man who felt things he didn’t want to feel, and wanted no one else to know he felt either, and while Peter’s expression may have been honest, Stiles had a sneaking suspicion it was a look calculated to endear him to Peter, and all at once Stiles needed some space from the werewolf.

He swallowed and hoped Peter couldn’t tell how desperately Stiles wanted to be away from him. “Could you take her?” he asked. “I’ve got to get started on some homework.”

Peter nodded, but his eyes were narrowed. “I’d be happy to.”

 

+

 

Stiles caught the shuttle to one of the university libraries to get some work done. Or at least, that's the story he gave Peter. Really he shuttled his way to campus, bought himself an overpriced coffee from one of the campus cafes, found a shady spot to sit, and called Lydia.

"Stilinksi," Lydia purred over the line. "To what do I owe the pleasure?"

"I need advice," Stiles said, and his voice must have reflected his distress, because Lydia sobered immediately.

"What'd he do?" Lydia asked sharply, and Stiles didn't need to ask for clarification on who the "he" was meant to refer to.

"Lydia, please don't...please don't jump down my throat."

"What did _you_ do?" she replied, voice wary.

"I think Peter and I are, I don't even think I can say it," and he couldn't. The idea of verbalizing his fear that he and Peter were becoming more than platonic co-parents was too distressing to contemplate.

Lydia understood what he was getting at, though. "Are you sleeping together?"

Stiles felt a deranged laugh bubble up within him. "More or less," he answered.

"Stiles!"

"I know, I know. We haven't, like, had _sex_ or anything," began Stiles nervously, and then he went through the last few weeks, refusing to leave out any of the unpleasant details.

"Stiles, I love you, you know that. But you're an idiot."

Stiles closed his eyes against Lydia's anger. "I know."

But then he heard Lydia take a shaky breath. "I-I'm sorry, Stiles. That wasn't called for."

"You're right, though."

"Maybe. But I'm also not there. I have no idea what life is like for you right now, and I'm just. It's really difficult for me to know you're so isolated from any real support system. I wish I could be there with you."

Stiles felt the first sting of tears in the corner of his eyes. He had been denying his own frustration for the bulk of the time Peter had been with him. He'd been refusing to let any resentment build over how abandoned he'd felt, and had been trying as best he could to not feel abandoned in the first place. But it had been there, sitting in wait, growing deeper with every argument or passive aggressive disagreement he'd had with Peter. To hear Lydia voice his own frustrations was both wonderful and terrible--inclusive and isolating. Validating and depressing. 

"It's been really hard," Stiles admitted tightly, and then he couldn't stop speaking. "I'm tired of fighting him on everything. He's easy when he gets what he wants, and he's been...it's been hell since Nova lost her scent. But sleeping together has made things so much better, Lydia." Stiles swallowed. "And even before that, Peter's...he's different with Nova. He feels like a different person. And I'm not saying I've forgotten about everything else he's done. I mean, we've even talked about the past some. But it's almost like he's softer now?"

He could tell Lydia was crying. "Stiles, you know he's not, though. He's just the same."

"Maybe," returned Stiles. "I can't tell anymore."

Lydia sniffed. "He's not hurting you though, right?"

"No," Stiles said emphatically. He hasn't touched me in any way I haven't--haven't wanted him to."

They were silent. Then Lydia said, "So. You wanted my advice."

Stiles shrugged, though he knew Lydia couldn't see it. "I mean, I can guess what you're going to say. I guess I just needed to get some of this out in the open."

"Stiles, I can't change how you feel. And given the situation, I can't even fault you for feeling the way you do. Or at least I _shouldn't_. Peter is unsafe, and it scares me that you're in a position where you have to believe otherwise. But. But I guess for now you have to do what you have to do to get by. And I can't tell you what that is. My heart is telling me to tell you that Peter is bad news, and for you to stay away, but it's not like that's something you can really afford to do. So...I don't know, Stiles. I don't fucking know."

 

+

 

Stiles, in an effort to stay honest, did eventually go to the library to study. He didn't achieve much, but it helped center him before he returned home to Peter and Nova. When he arrived, Peter was on the floor playing with Nova, wearing a cotton v-neck, a worn pair of jeans, and a pair of hole-y socks. Maybe it was the way Nova was gurgling her approval, or the holes in the the soles of Peter's socks, but Stiles felt his cheeks go hot and his stomach flutter with attraction. He set his backpack down on the couch and joined Peter on the floor.

"Hey," Peter said, still smiling at Nova. "Is that Daddy?" Peter asked, oscillating his voice so that Nova would coo and giggle. "Is Daddy home?"

Stiles felt his chest tighten. "I'm 'Daddy' now?" he asked, a little breathless. It was a big shift from when Stiles had accidentally referred to them as Nova’s dads and found Peter deeply uncomfortable with the comment.

Peter shrugged. "She’s our baby. More than the rest of the pack’s at this point, as much as everyone might like to pretend otherwise. Seems silly to raise her calling us by our first names."

Stiles felt like he was drowning. "And what's she supposed to call you?"

"I think I'll just be Dad," Peter said.

If Stiles was being played, it was working. Jesus Christ, was it working. "Okay," he said quietly. "Hey, baby girl," he said to Nova, "Daddy's home."


	9. Chapter 9

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> OKAY SO. FOR MY SUBSCRIBER BOOS: I FUCKED UP AND RESTRUCTURED/REVISED ALL THE PREVIOUSLY PUBLISHED CHAPTERS. THE END RESULT IS THAT I MOVED ONE CHAPTER INTO TWO OF THE OTHERS, MEANING I ESSENTIALLY LOST ONE. WHAT WAS ORIGINALLY CHAPTER 8 BECAME CHAPTER 7, AND THEN I WENT AND FILLED IN THE REAL CHAPTER 8. SO BASICALLY, IF YOU CAME BC U GOT THE SUBSCRIPTION EMAIL SAYING CHAPTER 9 WAS POSTED, YOU NEED TO GO BACK AND READ CHAPTER 8 AGAIN BC IT'S DIFFERENT.
> 
> ALSO SO SORRY FOR THE CAPSLOCK--BY THE TIME I REALIZED IT WAS EXCESSIVE I WAS HALF WAY THROUGH THE NOTE, AND I DIDN'T WANNA RETYPE ANYTHING. 
> 
> <3 <3 <3 THANKS FOR READING.

“So where would you like to go for your birthday tonight?”

Stiles stopped pulling silly faces at Nova and looked over at Peter. “I don’t care too much. I was thinking something easy? Santa Rita maybe?”

“It’s your birthday, Stiles. We can go wherever you’d like.”

They went to Santa Rita.

Peter drove, so Stiles ordered a margarita. And then, because it was his birthday, he ordered another. Then, because finals were beginning to bear down on him, when Peter ordered a pitcher, Stiles had a pint from that, too. By the end of the night he was too relaxed to mind much that Peter’s ankle was resting against his own. He was warm, and he was happy. And he liked the feeling of Peter’s body against his own.

“Happy birthday, Stiles,” Peter said with a soft smile that Stiles refused to think about.

“Thanks, Peter. It’s been a good one,” replied Stiles, and he meant it. Nova was behaving beautifully, Peter was being unusually considerate, and the pack Skype chat, which even Lydia had managed to get in on, had been much needed. The box of gifts Stiles had received the day before also didn’t hurt.

He was still grinning at the mess Nova had made of her plate, his ankle resting more firmly against Peter’s, when suddenly Peter stiffened and frowned.

“What’s the matter?”

“Those men,” Peter said, then trailed off. He had his head turned slightly as if he was trying to hear something better, and Stiles realized he probably was. He looked in the direction Peter’s head was turned in and noticed a table of four men seated a little ways away from them who appeared to be looking at their table.

“What’s wrong with them? Does this have to do with Nova?”

Peter shook his head sharply. “No. They’re talking about you and me.”

“You and me? Why?”

“They think we’re a couple,” Peter said. “And they’re not being very nice about it.” Then Peter’s eyes widened, and in a second he was out of his chair and across the room, with one of the men at the table trapped against the wall beneath Peter’s hands, his nails beginning to show the barest hint of claw.

“Say that again,” Peter growled. The man whimpered.

“Peter, stop!” Stiles had grabbed Nova and ran over to where Peter was.

“Sit down, Stiles,” Peter snapped. Then, to the man, “I said say that again.” When the man remained silent, Peter dragged one of his tipped nails along the man’s cheek and smiled so the tips of his fangs showed. “Do I have to make you?”

“Peter, back the fuck off!”

Peter whipped his head around to look at Stiles. Maybe it was the tone of Stiles’ voice or the look on his face. Or maybe it was the sight of Nova scared and on the verge of tears. Whatever it was, Peter became himself again. He backed away from the man and hurried past Stiles to the table where he threw down three twenties and grabbed his coat. Stiles said nothing to the onlookers and quickly followed after Peter.

 

+

 

In the car, things were tense.

“Sorry for ruining your birthday,” Peter eventually said.

“You didn’t,” replied Stiles. Then they were silent.

When they arrived back home, Stiles placed Nova in her play pen.

“I'm going to make some tea.” He turned to Peter. “You want a—”

But Stiles didn’t get the chance to finish his question. When he turned, he found Peter right in front of him. And then Peter had him pressed against the fridge, magnets falling every which way, and his mouth pressed firmly against Stiles’. Stiles felt himself melt into the touch, but then he pulled himself back together.

“Peter, we can’t.”

“Oh, yes we can.”

“No, we really can’t. _I_ really can’t.”

Peter pulled back. “Why are you making this so hard?” he ground out.

“Because you’re Peter fucking Hale!” Stiles yelled, then he pushed Peter further back so he could move away from the fridge and put some space between himself and the wolf. “Because God knows how old you are. Because I only like you because I am fucking forced to. Because it’s like emotional blackmail to watch you dote on Nova. Because you are essentially the only person who would possibly date me right now. Because we _basically have a fucking child together_!”

Peter rolled his eyes, unconcerned. “What does it matter why you’re attracted to me? Isn’t the important thing that you are, and that I’m attracted to you in return?” asked Peter.

“No,” Stiles said. “No, that’s not the important thing. You wouldn’t tell someone who has Stockholm Syndrome that it doesn’t matter _why_ they sympathize with their captors, so long as they do.”

Peter raised an eyebrow and folded his arms over his chest. “Oh, so you would equate yourself to a victim of Stockholm Syndrome now?”

“Yes!” Stiles exclaimed. Then, “I mean, no! But kind of?”

Peter shook his head. “You’re unbelievable.”

Stiles threw his arms out. “Why? Because I don’t like the fact that I want to fuck a goddamn sociopath? That’s really so unbelievable?”

“It’s not like we’re getting married!”

Stiles ran both hands through his hair. “Jesus, Peter; are you not understanding that we basically already are? You know how I take my coffee and I know never to buy you the wrong brand of toothpaste. When we order meals we switch our side dishes. We share a home, we share a car, and, oh yeah, we share a damn kid! Basically the only thing missing from this marriage is the sex.”

“Well, we can fix that,” said Peter.

“You’re the unbelievable one,” Stiles said. “How did this even happen? How did this become my life?”

Peter unfolded his arms and took a step towards Stiles. “Is your life really so bad, Stiles? You’re doing well in school studying a subject you love, and you have an easy job that lets you read all the books you could possibly want. You have a decent apartment, a beautiful home back in California with a pack there that loves you. You’ve been privileged enough to take care of a child like Nova, and you don’t even have to do it alone. You’ve got love and support coming at you from every direction, but to hear you talk it’s as if your life is over.”

Peter had been advancing during his speech until he was a mere step away from Stiles. Stiles listened to him talk and knew, deep down at his core, that what Peter said was only right to a degree. Some small part of Stiles recognized that this was just more Peter manipulation. But after months of fighting Peter’s influence, resisting and questioning and doubting Peter’s every motivation, Stiles was simply tired of it. He wanted to believe Peter’s optimistic and celebratory words. He didn’t want to be angry or scared anymore of what might happen if he let his walls down and allowed Peter inside.

So Stiles took that last step towards Peter. He let the werewolf put one hand on the side of his face and the other hand on his hip.

“I wish I’d never met you,” Stiles said. And he meant it.

“And here I was thinking you were one of the best things to ever happen to me,” replied Peter as he leaned forward.

“God, you are so full of shit,” said Stiles as he tilted his head to expose his neck ever-so-slightly.

“You fucking love it,” Peter murmured, then he moved the hand on Stiles’ cheek to the back of his head and brought Stiles’ lips to his own.

 

+

 

An hour later Stiles and Peter lay in bed, Stiles’ leg tossed carelessly over Peter's thigh.

“I don’t know how I feel about you,” he whispered with his eyes trained on the ceiling.

“I don’t need to know that anyway,” replied Peter, who had his own eyes closed.

“Okay,” Stiles said. He hoped his voice sounded neutral.

He took his leg off of Peter and turned his back to him. Then Stiles heard Peter sigh behind him.

“Stiles, don’t make this more complicated than it needs to be. Sex is good, and it’s fun, and you’re surprisingly not terrible at it, so let’s just enjoy it?”

“Yeah, okay,” Stiles said. There were more things he wanted to say to Peter. _This was more than sex_ was the main one. But he kept quiet. He kept quiet the rest of the night. He kept quiet the next morning when Peter woke him up by playing with his asshole. He kept quiet that evening when Peter followed him to bed and fucked him into the mattress and goddamn _kissed Stiles like he meant it_. Stiles, who never seemed to stop running his mouth, somehow managed to keep quiet when it came to his relationship with Peter Hale.

He kept his mouth shut when Peter joined Stiles in bed but was too tired to do anything but sleep after the full moon the night before, though he no longer needed to familiarize himself with Stiles’ scent.

He said nothing when Peter casually tossed his arm around Stiles' shoulders while they sat together on the futon and watched TV.

He remained silent when Peter absent-mindedly caressed Stiles’ hand at the movie theatre.

He bit his tongue when Peter started shoving his nose into Stiles’ neck when he woke in the mornings and pressed lazy kisses to the skin there.

It was killing Stiles, but still he kept quiet.


	10. Chapter 10

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I can't believe 
> 
> 1\. that I completely forgot to explicitly STATE what Nova did to Stiles' bedroom in chapter 7 (did that thing where I thought so much about it that I thought I'd already written it) and  
> 2\. that none of y'all were like, HEY WHAT ACTUALLY HAPPENED?
> 
> But it's okay. I forgive all of us. I've edited the chapter to include the info. For those wondering: She changed the color of the walls from white to purple. THAT LITTLE TRICKSTER WERECHILD IS VERY PERSNICKETY ABOUT HER COLOR SCHEMES. Something she and Lydia will bond over when she's older, surely.

They were fucking constantly, it seemed. Like the dam holding back all their frustration over the last few months had broken, and all that frustration now had only one valve through which to release itself.

They fucked in the kitchen, Stiles pressed onto the counter; they fucked on the futon while Nova napped in Stiles’ bedroom; they fucked on Stiles’ mattress, Peter’s hand pressed to Stiles’ mouth to muffle any sounds so Nova wouldn’t wake in her crib along the opposite wall.

Sometimes it seemed like sex was the only thing keeping Stiles sane during the chaos of finals, which descended on him like one of the many sudden summer thunder storms Austin was so partial to. He was working less at the library to allow more time for studying and research, but even then he continued to feel at his wit’s end during the weeks leading up to the due dates for his many tests and research papers.

But whenever Stiles’ anxiety reached peak levels, Peter was there, pressing kisses along the nape of his neck, his hand sliding slowly up Stiles’ thigh.

“Let me help you relax,” he’d murmur against Stiles’ ear, causing goosebumps to rise all over his arms. And Stiles could never say no. He couldn’t say no to the slick slide of skin, to the hot kisses branding his neck and back, to the bites Peter littered along his wrists—oh the fascination Peter had developed with Stiles’ wrists. He kissed, caressed, and nipped the skin there daily, regardless of the activity at hand.

In addition to Stiles’ wrists, Peter had become obsessed with shoving his nose into every patch of hair Stiles’ body sported. After sex, when Stiles’ body was coated in a thin sheen of sweat, Peter would methodically press his nose to Stiles’ temples, underarms, and groin, inhaling deeply. Stiles wanted to ask what Peter was doing, but he was too scared of the answer. At first he thought it might have been related to Peter catching all the nuances of Stiles’ scent, but he hadn’t needed to do that for weeks now. Since Stiles was already worried about how intimate they’d become he decided not to think any more on it; he didn’t need their closeness further bolstered by this new behavior of Peter’s. So he let Peter be.

And before Stiles knew it, finals were done. Graduation was two weeks away, and the whole pack, minus Lydia, was planning to be there for it. Allison, Scott, and Isaac were graduating from SFSU on the 22nd of May (which Stiles and Lydia were both devastated they were missing), and then they were catching a red eye to make it in time for Stiles’ commencement on the 23rd. Stiles’ dad would arrive on the 21st, however, to catch up with Stiles and his adopted granddaughter, then once the pack was there and graduation was over, they’d all spend a few days helping Stiles and Peter pack. Then Peter and the sheriff would drive back to Beacon Hills in Stiles' beloved Jeep, and the rest of the gang would fly out to Cambridge for Lydia’s graduation on the 30th. It would be, by far, the most hectic week of Stiles’ life.

And hectic it was. While the arrival of his dad and the pack was wonderful, and his commencement itself rewarding, Stiles found himself more exhausted at the end of every day while everyone was in town than he’d been during even his first days with Nova and Peter or his days during finals.

Peter and Nova seemed at the end of their ropes, too. Nova, unused to being handled by so many new people, oscillated between immense joy at all the attention and fussy exhaustion with all the activity. She’d been more prone to tantrums throughout the entire week, and it was starting to wear on the others. It didn't help that both Stiles and Peter felt themselves under an intense, unsubtle scrutiny by their packmates, who couldn't seem to get enough of, nor understand, the strange kinship that had developed between the pair. Stiles was only grateful things were so busy that no one found the time to pull either of them aside to ask questions.

But in many ways, it was Peter who struggled with the arrival of the pack the most. He had gotten used to the mostly quiet life he’d built with Stiles—at least, it was certainly quieter than living with the whole pack—and with a space previously only marked by him, Stiles, and Nova, it was wearing him down to have it so invaded by the others. He’d told Stiles as much after the first night everyone had gotten into town after they’d all made their way back to their respective temporary lodgings—the sheriff back to his hotel and the pack back to the house they’d rented for the week.

It reminded Stiles of how anxious he was to move into the house shared by the pack back in Beacon Hills. How anxious he was about the way things were going to change.

 

+

 

The night before everyone was heading out to their new destinations—Peter and the sheriff back to Beacon Hills with a U-Haul trailer attached to Stiles’ Jeep and the rest of the pack off to Cambridge for Lydia’s commencement—Stiles stood in the doorway of his and Peter’s bedroom, frozen at the threshold. _Their_ _bedroom_. It no longer felt like only Stiles’ for how often Peter had been in it. The realization struck him like a sledgehammer, the blow made worse by the fact they’d be leaving it tomorrow.

“What’s the matter?” asked Peter, already in bed.

“I,” began Stiles, but then he found he couldn’t finish. “I can’t believe we leave tomorrow,” he finished lamely.

“I know,” Peter agreed. “I’m shocked to say I’ll miss this place, shithole that it may be.”

Stiles looked around their empty bedroom, bereft of everything but Nova’s crib and the mattresses they would be packing up in the morning so that Peter would have something to sleep on back in Beacon Hills. Stiles had suggested buying new ones instead, but Peter had refused.

“When the cloaking shield is broken they’ll smell like you and Nova. I want that for a little while.” Stiles had felt his heart go tender at the words. Had found himself kissing Peter without thought. Had felt Peter kiss him gently back. Stiles couldn’t remember them ever being softer with one another.

He feared everything they’d built together would be gone when they got back to Beacon Hills, and it scared him even worse that he was _dreading_ the idea of losing what they’d come to have. Things weren’t supposed to have worked out that way.

“Well, are you coming to bed?” Peter asked. He sounded annoyed, worn down from another day of heavy pack interaction, but Stiles could tell— _really_ tell—that Peter was using annoyance to mask concern, and his ability to tell scared him, too.

Stiles came wordlessly to bed and laid down beside Peter.

“Tell me what’s going on?” Peter demanded, but his voice was soft for all it was also commanding.

“I thought we didn’t talk about shit like that?” Stiles said, his attitude surprising even himseldf, and he didn’t know why he said it. All he wanted was to be honest with Peter, as they had been for the past month, despite Peter’s continued insistence there was nothing truly intimate going on between them. But he was angry, growing angrier, as he reflected on their time together and considered the ways it might all change come tomorrow.

Peter scoffed. “Fine,” he snapped.

Stiles shut his eyes tight. The urge to cry was a ridiculous one, and not one he’d indulge. He wondered if he should apologize to Peter, though. It was their final night alone together, after all. While he considered, Peter made the decision for him.

“I don’t want tonight to go like this,” he said quietly, and Stiles wanted to believe Peter was speaking from a rare place of truth.

“I don’t either,” he agreed.

Slowly, Peter came to straddle Stiles, to trap him—willingly—beneath his arms and legs. Slowly, ever so slowly, Peter bent his head down to kiss Stiles’ lips. At the touch of their mouths, Stiles slipped his hands around Peter’s neck, burying his fingers in Peter’s loose, shampoo-scented hair.

They broke apart only long enough to remove their sleep pants and for Peter to prep Stiles. Peter made quick, efficient work of it, and then slid his cock inside. Stiles hissed out a breath. He didn’t let himself think of how much he would miss this. Would miss Peter.

Stiles pressed every possible inch of his skin to Peter’s. Peter’s mouth never seemed to leave Stiles’, his tongue meeting with Stiles’ while his hips ground down. They didn’t normally fuck like this. Face to face. But Stiles wasn’t going to complain. He wrapped his legs around Peter’s waist, pulling the wolf forward, and tightened his arms around Peter’s neck. Then he bit, hard, into Peter’s shoulder.

Peter threw his head back. “Fuck, Stiles.”

Stiles responded by lapping at the mark.

“I want you so bad,” Peter said as he looked down at Stiles, eyes flashing blue.

“Peter, you have me,” Stiles replied, then he licked up Peter’s neck.

“Don’t want anyone else to have you,” Peter continued.

“They won’t,” Stiles agreed, panting. “They haven’t for a while.”

“Fuck,” ground out Peter.

Stiles laughed. “Eloquent.”

Peter shut Stiles up the best way he knew how, and Stiles, anticipating the move, opened his mouth to meet Peter’s.

“You drive me fucking crazy,” Peter said, breaking the kiss a moment later.

“I could say the same.”

“But still I want you.”

Stiles squeezed his eyes shut. “Say it again.”

Peter grinned. “Want you.”

“Again.”

“Fuck, Stiles, I fucking want you.”

And then Stiles was coming with a yell that Peter immediately smothered with his lips. Stiles bit at the swollen flesh.

Peter pulled back with a smirk. “I think I’m rubbing off on you.”

Stiles rolled his eyes at the terrible pun, but he was too content to complain. Instead, he let one hand rove over Peter’s back and the other clutch at his hair. He looked Peter in his blue eyes and said, “Come for me.”

Peter’s breath caught and his hips snapped forward.

“Christ, I fucking love you, Peter, come for me,” Stiles continued, and Peter grew more frantic by the second.

“S-say, say that again,” Peter choked out, echoing Stiles' earlier words.

“I love you, Peter; come for me,” Stiles repeated. And Peter did.

 

+

 

The next morning everything was, not to put too fine a point on it, awful. Peter would barely meet Stiles' eyes and he refused to touch him. Stiles finally cornered him as Peter was exiting the bathroom and the others were busy carting things out to the U-Haul trailer.

“So this is how you’re going to play it?” Stiles asked, keeping his voice low and desperately hoping no werewolves with super hearing were anywhere near enough to hear him.

“I’m not playing anything,” Peter snapped back.

“You can’t act this way when we get back! We’ll still have Nova to take care of.”

“The rest of the pack will be there,” Peter said, as if that mattered more than getting their relationship back on solid footing.

Stiles found himself growing panicked. He’d known things would shift between Peter and himself, but he hadn’t anticipated such forthright rejection, and certainly not so soon. “Peter, please. I can’t—I can’t take back what I said, but believe me that I’m fucking sorry I said it. You can’t act like I don’t exist because I said one dumb thing in bed.” It was an understatement of course, but Stiles was desperate. Even with the pack, he couldn’t envision raising Nova without Peter right there beside him.

“I shouldn’t have let things get so carried away,” Peter said stiffly. “What we had was purely defined by our relationship to Nova, which is no longer applicable. That’s all I’m going to say on the matter. Now get out of my way, Stiles.” Then Peter pushed past him anyway.

A moment later Derek was there. “That the last of the boxes?” he asked.

Stiles hoped he didn’t look as wrecked as he felt. “Yeah, that was the last of the boxes.” Derek nodded, though he considered Stiles with an unreadable expression. Then he turned and made his way back outside.

Stiles looked around his empty apartment and took a deep breath, then one more, before following as well.

He hadn’t wanted to say goodbye this way.

 

+

 

Ten minutes later and Peter and Stiles’ dad were driving off with the trailer, back on the road to California.

“The shuttle’s here. We’re ready, right?” asked Derek as he placed a gentle hand on Stiles’ elbow.

Stiles dragged his gaze away from the disappearing Jeep. “Yeah,” he answered. So Stiles, Nova in tow, Derek, Isaac, Scott, and Allison all piled into the shuttle and made their way to the airport.

Settled into their seats, Stiles found himself and Nova—who was blessedly so worn down from the previous days that she had conked right out once the plane was in the air—placed beside Derek while Isaac, Allison, and Scott were scattered throughout the rest of the aisles. Not that it mattered much—Stiles knew everyone would be up and about once the seatbelt light went off.

“Okay,” said Derek about an hour into the flight while Allison and Scott were occupied near Isaac’s seat in the back. “So, I’m only going to offer to talk about this once, but trust that I’m sincere with my offer.”

Stiles swallowed. “Okay?”

“Do you want to talk about what’s going on with you and Peter?”

“I don’t know what you mean?” Stiles tried, though he knew he wouldn’t get away with it.

Derek snorted. “What kind of idiot do you take me for? You want to talk or not?”

“Why do you even think there’s anything to talk about?” Stiles asked back, genuinely curious.

“Peter’s different now,” was all Derek said.

“Yeah, well, I think we can chock that up to Nova more than anything.”

“Maybe,” Derek said with a nod. “But that doesn’t explain his behavior around you.”

“Now I honestly have no idea what you’re talking about.”

“He lets you boss him around, doesn’t he?”

Stiles laughed aloud. “That’s a fucking joke.”

“I’m serious, Stiles. When he was about ready to smash his own computer because he didn’t like what he was hearing from Scott and Deaton when it came to cloaking Nova, _you_ demanded he get a hold of himself, and he _did_. That’s…unheard of with Peter. And I bet it’s not the only time you’ve done it.”

Stiles thought back to his birthday dinner when Peter had had that man’s throat in his hand. He’d listened to Stiles then, too. “No, it’s not,” he said quietly.

“And yet all morning long, Peter’s barely said a single civil word to you about anything. Something happened last night, and if you want to talk about it with someone who incrementally understands Peter better than anyone else in the pack, I’m offering to listen.”

Stiles felt himself filling with tenderness for Derek. They’d been forging a quiet friendship before Stiles had moved to Texas, and though they’d Skyped during pack calls, had a few one-on-one phone calls, and spent the occasional afternoon together during Stiles’ breaks, their relationship had grown a little stunted. Stiles hoped to remedy that when he settled into the pack house.

“Derek, I really appreciate it, but-”

“You’re going to pass,” Derek finished.

“I’m not ready to talk about what happened. I still need to process whatever the hell information about Peter that you just dropped on me.”

“That’s fine,” Derek said. “But I’m going to say one last thing: It might not be so obvious to everyone besides maybe Lydia, but it’s clear as day to me that you two were intimate. Physically and otherwise. That’s your business, and I have no opinion about it. But just know that Peter is…very tempting. He knows how to make himself appealing. Safe. I gave in to the temptation because we’re family, and I might regret that one day. But I did it. So what I want to say to you is that I won’t judge you if you give in to him too.”

Stiles had no idea how to respond. It wasn’t often Derek spoke so candidly. “I don’t think Lydia would be so understanding,” he finally said.

“So she does know,” concluded Derek.

Stiles smiled slightly. “More or less.”

Derek shrugged. “Lydia is never going to be okay with Peter, and that’s fine. Right even. But she accepted him into the pack just the same, which means she made her own kind of commitment to him. She knows if she had said no he wouldn’t be here.”

Stiles _tsk_ ’d. “Let’s not pretend she didn’t feel any pressure to say yes, though.”

Derek shrugged again. “I’m not pretending that. But we made it clear she had the final say. That it wasn’t an either-or situation. She could say no and still be pack. And even knowing that, she said yes.”

“I don’t think that really changes anything, Derek.”

“I disagree.” Derek looked over briefly at Stiles. “I’m not saying Lydia is ever going to throw you two a party, but for all her legitimate problems with Peter, she still let him in. Don’t be ashamed to let him in, too.”

“It’s hardly the same thing, letting Peter into the pack versus into my fucking bed,” Stiles said, and bitterness colored his tone.

“You feel weak,” Derek said softly.

Stiles shot him a sharp look. He did feel weak. “You do, too?”

“Not anymore,” Derek said. “Peter’s been the best uncle to me over the last two years than he’s ever been since I’ve known him. I stopped beating myself up for enjoying it.”

“You think I should do the same?” asked Stiles.

“I think you should do what you’ll be able to live with the best. I’m just saying I won’t judge you, whatever choice you make.”

“I don’t think I want to talk about this anymore,” Stiles said. He felt faint with the whole situation.

“Okay,” Derek said agreeably, then he pulled his headphones out of his pocket and plugged into the in-flight movie.

 

+

 

Lydia's graduation was another blur of a week, as she had a variety of items to sell and donate before they all hopped back on another plane to return for good back to Beacon Hills together. Lydia, being the mastermind she was, somehow managed to work it so that everyone  _but_ her handled all the heavy lifting and phone negotiations while she spent time with Nova and made sure none of her nail polish chipped. Stiles would have admired her adept manipulations if he wasn't so sore. 

And then everyone was back in California, moving into the pack house. And Stiles was once again under the same roof with Peter.

Though, now things were just as terribly changed as he had feared.


	11. Chapter 11

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Holy smokes! An update! Thanks for being patient, y'all. And to all my subscribers and bookmark-ers, new and old, thank you so fucking much. It means the world to me that you're enjoying this fic enough to hit those little buttons.

The first thing Stiles did when he got back into town was take Nova to see her grandfather.

“You sure you don’t want to unpack first?” Scott had asked.

But Stiles had been feeling anxious about seeing Peter, and not a little petty. Taking Nova to see his dad first would irritate Peter, something Stiles found himself rather interested in doing. “Nah, I want to be sure Peter didn’t maul my dad." Then, for good measure, he added, "You can tell him I said that.”

And then he’d hopped in the Jeep Peter had left in the garage, the keys tucked into the glove box, and left the house.

“There’s my little grandcub!” his father exclaimed, materializing behind Stiles just as he had gotten Nova out of her car seat.

Nova was then unceremoniously lifted out of Stiles’ arms. “Missed you, too, Dad.”

The sheriff didn’t bother looking apologetic. “Come on, Stiles, you know who the real star of this show is.” Then he picked up one of Nova’s hands and dropped kisses on all her fingers. Nova, delighted with the attention, squealed happily and proceeded to shove her fingers into his mouth. Stiles’ dad nibbled at them lightly, and garbled, “You’re sweet enough to eat!” from around her tiny digits.

“You realize she’s not actually edible, right?”

“Shush, you.”

They made their way inside the sheriff’s home, and Stiles felt a pang of sadness. It was strange to realize that, while he was once again living in Beacon Hills, he would not be residing in this house, with his father. But he refused to let himself mope for too long.

He fell onto the couch and watched his father with Nova. He took a breath. “So how was the drive back with Peter?”

His father shrugged, some of the mirth leaving his face. “It was fine,” he said vaguely.

Stiles frowned. “That’s really all you’ve got to say about it?”

The sheriff shrugged. “No, I mean. Peter was pretty quiet. He wasn’t rude or anything, but it seemed clear he didn’t want much to do with me. You know how he is.”

Stiles did. “Well…I’m glad it was uneventful then, I guess.”

“I think he missed you two, honestly.”

Stiles snorted. “Yeah, maybe he missed Nova, but I think Peter’s done with me.”

“Really?” asked his dad with some surprise.

“He said as much before you two left.”

The sheriff furrowed his brow. “I’d punch him for being a dick, but then it’s not so bad if he’s off your case, is it?”

Stiles smiled at his father. “I guess it’s not.” Not wanting to talk further about the werewolf, Stiles steered the conversation elsewhere and resolved not to bring up Peter again.

But he couldn’t avoid the subject when he got home. Peter was seated right in the living room off the entryway, anger etched into every muscle of his body. He stood from the couch and stalked his way over to Stiles. “You think this is funny?” he said quietly so that no one was likely to overhear.

Stiles was going to snap some unkind thing back when Nova let out of a shrill shriek of excitement at the sight, sound, and scent of Peter. She had missed him during his absence, and no amount of cuddles and kisses and tickles from Stiles or the others had been able to ease her desire to see Peter.

Peter was instantly mollified. His face softened and his arms gently pulled the laughing baby out of Stiles’ grasp.

Stiles found the whole display difficult. He hadn’t seen Peter in over a week, and despite his anger, all he wanted to do was envelope Peter in an embrace of his own, to kiss him, and twine their fingers together, and sit side by side on the couch with Nova tucked between them. He wanted what he’d had back in Austin, not this new forced separation that Peter was imposing.

But then Peter was turning away from Stiles and taking Nova with him. Stiles watched Peter walk into the kitchen, then heard the opening and closing of the basement door entrance which led to Peter's private room, and he was furious once more.

 

+

 

Over the following days, it became clear that the pack (except for Derek and then Lydia, who had been informed of the relationship update by Stiles back in Cambridge) was confused by the new limitations of Stiles and Peter's relationship. Mostly, the pair could rarely be found in sight of each other, Nova never handed directly from one to the other, always some other pack member playing middle man. Stiles and Peter had also worked out an unspoken system for spending time with Nova. After one too many awkward run-ins in Nova's new nursery, it was agreed upon that Peter would see to her morning routine, Stiles to her evening, and the pack to everything in between and whatever middle-of-the-night happenings took place. As a result, it became very clear very quickly that something had happened, but Stiles and Peter were mum on the matter.

"Dude, what the hell’s going on?” asked Scott, cornering Stiles in his bedroom a week after their return. “I thought things were going okay between the two of you."

"Things are fine," Stiles insisted. He wished he had Nova to play with and distract him from the conversation, but the problem with having the pack to help take care of her was that...they helped take care of her. Derek and Isaac had her for the day, Allison and Lydia were out shopping with plans to hit the gun range later, and Peter had fucked off to somewhere Stiles hadn’t bothered to find out about, which left him alone with Scott and no means of escape.

"Yeah, Peter said the same thing. But I think you're both lying through your teeth. You barely speak, and I don't think I've seen you two in the same room since you got home. Stiles, not only am I your alpha, I'm your best damn friend. What happened?"

Stiles knew Scott deserved an explanation, though he wasn’t sure he had the energy to get into the whole sordid affair. But he took one look at Scott’s face, concern for Stiles’ well-being and determination to find out the truth plain as day on his features, and knew it was time to come clean.

He gave Scott the abridged version (which left out most of the sex), but even cutting out the parts he thought Scott would appreciate being spared, it was still an exhausting endeavor. By the end, Scott looked like he’d been dunked in water laced with wolfsbane.

“I’ll be honest,” he said. “That’s really not what I thought you were going to say. I mean, I wasn’t sure _what_ you were going to say, but that wasn’t it.”

“Yeah, I never really thought this would be something I’d ever have to say myself.”

Scott whistled. “So, to recap: You and Peter started a relationship that mostly revolved around Nova, eventually turned physical, and then immediately ended when you accidentally confessed your feelings to him, and now he’s acting like the whole thing never happened and essentially refusing to speak to you except when it comes to Nova?”

Stiles opened his mouth, then closed it. Then opened it again. “Well,” he started to say, pausing once more. “I’d say it’s maybe, like, _a little_ more complicated than that? But for the sake of the moment, sure. Yeah, that’s pretty much what happened.”

“And Derek thinks Peter’s, like, legit into you?”

“Apparently.”

“And Lydia thinks Peter’s just being Peter?”

“Pretty much.”

A pause. “Shit, man.”

Stiles sighed. “You want to weigh in?”

Scott considered Stiles’ situation. “I don’t even fucking know, bro,” he said finally.

Stiles nodded, “Yeah, that’s about where I am.”

Scott cocked his head and pursed his lips. “So do you think Peter was really interested in you?” he asked after a moment.

“You mean, before he all but said I meant literally nothing to him? Yeah, man. It felt real, for whatever that’s worth, considering it’s _Peter_ we’re talking about.”

“Well, maybe it was,” said Scott. “Maybe it was, and he panicked when shit got serious.”

“Does that really sound like Peter to you, though? He’s never been the kind of guy to shy away when shit gets real. He kind of thrives on the dramatic.”

Scott shrugged. “Look, I think it’s safe to say that you know Peter way better than I do, and I’m not saying I don’t believe he’s capable of this kind of genuine assholishness. But do you think it’s possible that maybe you just upset the power balance he thought he had when you told him you loved him? That maybe you accidentally proved to him that everything wasn’t the game he thought it was? That maybe you just…took him by surprise? And he doesn’t know how to deal with that?”

Stiles swallowed. “Jesus Christ, Scott. You can’t really think that.”

“I don’t know what to think,” Scott replied. “This whole mess is totally beyond me. But I love you, and I respect Peter. And this doesn’t feel like a play to me, you know? I mean what’s the benefit to any of it?”

Stiles thought about that. “Well, I mean. If he gets close to me, he’s then ostensibly closer to _you_ , and you’re the one with true power here.”

“Maybe,” Scott agreed. “But he also has to know that out of the whole pack, you’re probably the least easy to manipulate. Except for, like, Lydia and maybe Allison. Not to mention, I’ve gotten a lot closer with Derek. Why wouldn’t Peter work through him?” Scott was on a roll. “ _Not to mention_ , if I was the target the whole time, he wouldn’t shy away when you finally told him you loved him. I mean, that’d be ideal, wouldn’t it? If getting to me was his endgame?”

Stiles couldn’t really argue with the logic. “You might have a point.”

Scott rubbed at his temples. “This whole thing is messing with my head, man. How did you spend three months with Peter constantly worrying about mind games? I’ve been worrying about it all of ten minutes and I feel a headache coming on.”

Stiles laughed. “It wasn’t a fucking walk in the park, I’ll tell you that much.”

“But clearly in a lot of ways you enjoyed your time with him?”

Stiles swallowed. Nodded. “I did.”

“Doesn’t that count for something?” Then Scott squeezed Stiles shoulder and smiled. “It’ll work out, Stiles,” he said. From anyone else, Stiles would have found the words aggravating. But coming from Scott, he only found them comforting.

Stiles smiled slightly in return. “I know it will. I know.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Coming to the last few chapters! I can't even believe it. Also, a mixtape for this fic is in the works! Should go up soon, I expect.


	12. Chapter 12

Stiles couldn’t sleep. Even though it’d been almost a month, he still missed having Nova in the same room, and he still hadn’t gotten used to Peter no longer sleeping beside him. The bed was too big, the room too quiet. After tossing and turning for an hour and a half, Stiles finally admitted defeat and threw off the covers. He wished he was still smoking pot—that would have knocked him right out. The wolves all hated it, though, and since he’d quit smoking regularly once he’d started taking care of Nova, he hadn’t ever replenished his stash anyway.

So instead Stiles crept downstairs to make a cup of Sleepytime tea. When he reached the landing, however, he had the misfortune of finding Peter sitting in the living room, the room dark except for the light flashing from the TV screen.

“Uh, sorry,” Stiles mumbled.

“Can’t sleep?” Peter asked in return.

Stiles thought about not answering, but then he sighed. “No. You neither?”

“No,” Peter agreed.

“I was going to make some tea,” Stiles said after another moment of silence. “You want a cup?”

Peter nodded and then stood from the couch and followed Stiles into the kitchen. Stiles put on the kettle and then readied two cups with tea bags, dropping a spoonful of sugar into Peter’s mug. When he turned to grab a second spoon out of the drawer, he found Peter standing just behind him.

It was so very much like the first time they had kissed that Stiles’ body suddenly ached for all the intimate touches Peter had been denying him since they’d returned to Beacon Hills.

Stiles swallowed. “I thought you were avoiding this.”

“I was,” Peter said.

“And now?”

It was Peter’s turn to swallow. When he finally spoke, his words came out strained. “My bed still smells like you and Nova.”

“Then get a new mattress,” Stiles snapped.

Peter looked like whatever he wanted to say was physically paining him to admit. “I can’t sleep without you.”

Stiles shook his head. “You’re the one who pulled away. Who looked at me like I was nothing. You basically told me I was nothing, that I didn’t matter to you outside of Nova.”

“I _lied_ , Stiles. That’s what I _do_.”

“How can I trust you’re not lying now, then? How can I believe anything you say or do?” Stiles pushed Peter a step back. “You just gave me the biggest reason never to trust you again. Not even taking into account the way it’s been the last four weeks.”

Peter exhaled heavily and leaned back against the opposite counter. “I don’t have any reason to lie to you now, do I? No one is going to take Nova away. The pack isn’t going to kick me out. There’s no benefit to being with you, and I hate how much I want to be with you despite that.”

For a moment Stiles wondered if Peter had overheard his conversation with Scott those few weeks ago, his words so neatly echoing what Scott had then suggested. But then Stiles considered the simpler explanation: Scott had just been _right_. He shook his head and rolled his eyes, a small smile on his lips. “Romantic.”

“It’s the best you’re going to get,” Peter told him.

Stiles ran his hands down his face as the kettle whistled its readiness. He startled at the sound. “Christ,” he muttered as he hurried to remove the kettle from the stove. “I need some air,” he said after he’d filled their cups. “Let’s talk outside.”

They made their way onto the back porch and took a seat side by side on the swing Derek had hung from the patio cover. “I know this is difficult for you to believe,” Peter began.

“Impossible, actually,” Stiles countered. He wanted to stop fighting with Peter, but he had to be sure. “You’ve literally been telling me since day one you essentially don’t like me. That you only fucked me because it felt nice and I was ‘surprisingly not terrible’ at it. Now you’re sitting here, seeming to suggest the opposite. Can you tell me honestly for once how you actually feel about me? Are you capable of doing that?”

Peter stared out into the dark as Stiles spoke, but he turned to look at the younger man after he’d finished speaking. “I care about you immensely,” he said calmly. “I care about you beyond your connection to Nova, and as much as it pains me to admit, nothing would make me happier than us continuing to be her primary caretakers, together.”

Stiles felt the breath leave him. “Jesus, Peter,” he said quietly. “Jesus fucking Christ.”

“You don’t believe me?” Peter asked.

“The problem is that I do,” Stiles answered. “That I want to really, really badly.”

Peter smiled, nothing more than a small twist of his lips. But Stiles caught it all the same, and found himself impossibly moved. He leaned down to put his mug on the ground, and then turned himself to face Peter. “Are we going to do this then?”

Peter put his mug down as well, took Stiles’ face into his hands and crushed their mouths together. “Come to bed with me,” he said between kisses.

Peter’s room was in the basement, a mutually agreed upon act of separation between him and the rest of the pack. While he didn’t have the whole basement to himself, having to share one half of it with the washer and dryer, it was the compromise he willingly made for the space, which was largely empty throughout the day and which also contained a small bathroom.

It also was both the quietest part of the house and the part of the house that quieted the most noise, so Stiles didn’t have to worry about silencing his cries as Peter undid his pants and sucked his cock into his mouth.

“Fuck, Peter, I missed you so bad,” Stiles said, the words tumbling out of his mouth despite himself. “I’ve missed your hands and your mouth and your cock, Jesus Christ.”

Peter stopped his attentions on Stiles’ dick. “I’m not going to be able to do this slowly if you keep talking like that,” he growled.

“I don’t want it slow,” Stiles said. “Are you not understanding I’ve been going fucking crazy without this?”

Peter nodded. “I think I have a pretty good idea what you’ve been going through, Stiles. This hasn’t exactly been easy for me either.”

“Then fuck me already!” Stiles cried out.

“I thought you wanted romance?” Peter asked, his tone more playful than his harried hands as they roved under Stiles’ clothes.

“We can work on romance later; for now, just fucking get your cock inside me.”

Peter’s prep was quick and dirty, the only pause when Peter had to yank open his nightstand for his lube and then yank down Stiles’ pants for better access to his ass. He was inside Stiles before either of them had even taken off their clothes.

Stiles fell silent as Peter thrust inside him, pushing Stiles facedown into the bed, and Peter latched his mouth onto Stiles’ exposed neck. They fucked sharp and frantic, the sole focus their mutual release. And if it was far from the sweetest or most satisfying sex they’d ever had, it was certainly their most necessary.

When it was over, Peter released his mouth from Stiles’ neck and started to pull out, but Stiles threw a hand behind him to keep Peter still. “No, I just need…” he said, but his voice was foggy with orgasm, and he simply let the sentence trail off. Peter stopped moving and let his head fall onto Stiles’ shoulder.

“I’m sorry if that was—” Peter began to say, but Stiles wouldn’t let him finish.

“It was what I needed,” Stiles said, and he sounded the most relaxed that Peter had heard in months.

After another few moments, Stiles finally let Peter withdraw from inside him. Peter stood and made his way to the bathroom. He returned with a damp hand towel. He undressed Stiles’ the rest of the way, then wiped away the cum that streaked his stomach before wiping between Stiles’ cheeks, and finally his own cock. Then Peter tossed the rag near the washer and undressed himself.

Stiles crawled under the covers while Peter took off his clothes, and when Peter shuffled in after him, he found himself momentarily at a loss for what to do.

“Stop thinking too hard,” Peter told him, and pulled Stiles in for a warm embrace and soft kiss on lips.

“I missed you so much,” Stiles sleepily repeated. “I hate how much I missed you.”

“I missed you too,” Peter replied.

****

+

 

They were woken the next morning by Isaac walking down the stairs to do a load of laundry. He froze mid-step when he caught sight of Stiles and Peter curled up together in bed.

“Uh—”

Stiles jolted upright at the sound. He’d only been half dozing, one hand softly rubbing along Peter’s side. “Jesus, Isaac!”

“Sorry!” said Isaac as he turned back around. “I’ll just…come back later,” he finished awkwardly.

“So that’s going to be all over the house when we go upstairs,” Peter said mildly after Isaac had shut the basement door.

“We could always not go upstairs?”

“Nova might have something to gurgle about that.”

“Have you fed her yet?” Stiles asked as rubbed the sleep from his eyes.

Peter nodded. “I went up about an hour ago and found that Derek had already changed her and was starting to feed her breakfast.”

It occurred to Stiles that Derek probably knew that he had spent the night with Peter then. The idea didn’t bother him after his talk with Derek on the flight.

“Did you go back to sleep or just lay there watching me like a pervert?” he asked, re-focusing on Peter.

“I think you can guess.”

“Option number two then,” said Stiles, smiling slightly, but then he was hit by a thought. “Wait, did you hear Isaac open the door and just let him come down anyway?”

Peter was silent a moment. “It saved us the trouble of having to tell anyone ourselves.”

Stiles shoved his head into his pillow.

 

+

 

Everyone was sitting around the dining table in the kitchen when Stiles finally had the courage to make his way upstairs for breakfast an hour later, including Peter, who had gone up shortly after Isaac so as to mitigate the rumor mill.

“Morning, Stiles,” Scott said cheerily.

“Sorry again if I woke you,” Isaac said, no longer looking the least bit sheepish about it.

Stiles met Lydia’s gaze and found her somewhat uncomfortable but not angry. Derek wasn’t even paying Stiles any attention, but rather tickling Nova’s feet. Only Allison who, along with Isaac, had had no previous inkling of the relationship looked at all shocked when Stiles entered the room.

Finally Stiles looked at Peter. Peter looked plainly back at him, and then pulled out the empty chair next to him. Stiles took it and found himself next to Lydia.

“I see you worked things out,” she said tightly, but she was smiling slightly. She was trying.

“It’s in progress,” Stiles said, because he felt he and Peter weren’t quite done talking some things out.

Peter turned towards Stiles slightly at his response, but said nothing. Then he deposited Nova in Stiles’ lap before returning to his meal and his conversation with Derek.

Nova lit up once she was in Stiles’ arms, and Stiles felt so much better for it.

“Did you miss me, baby girl?” he said before kissing the top of her head. “I sure missed you.” Lydia watched them, her face a little softer. “You want to take her?” Stiles asked.

Lydia shook her head. “I’m okay, thanks. I like watching her with you.”

Stiles nodded, then turned his attention to all the food on the table in front of him. “I didn’t expect this spread,” he said to Lydia. 

“You have Peter to thank for that,” she replied, her voice neutral.

“It gave me something to do while I waited for you to get over your panic attack.”

Stiles rolled his eyes. “Yeah, yeah, make me a plate already, will you?”

Peter immediately took Stiles’ empty plate and started loading it up with pancakes, bacon, eggs, and fruit. Over Peter’s arms, Derek shot Stiles a look he pointedly did not acknowledge.

“Is anyone going to say anything about how weird this all is?” asked Isaac as Peter was handing Stiles the jug of maple syrup.

“Not anyone with an ounce of maturity,” Derek replied, and Isaac snapped his mouth shut.

“It’s fine,” Stiles said. “I know this is…really unexpected.”

“I don’t think it’s _that_ unexpected,” Isaac returned, unable to help himself. “I thought it was pretty obvious Peter wanted the Stilinksi D for years now?”

Scott’s head dropped into his hands and Allison snorted before she could stop herself.

“Isaac,” Derek warned.

Peter only shrugged and wiped a cloth napkin along the side of his mouth. “He’s not wrong.”

Stiles gaped. “Jesus fucking Christ, Peter.”

“Language in front of the baby,” Lydia interjected tersely.

Isaac wasn’t finished though. “I mean more this whole…we’re all sitting around a table and Peter and Stiles are acting like an old married couple, with a kid and everything…thing.”

“I think it’s safe to say we’ve seen stranger stuff,” said Scott, and Stiles wanted to reach across the table and kiss him for being as calm about all this as he had been.

“Yeah, I don’t think that’s true,” replied Isaac.

“So do you have a problem with it, Isaac?” asked Peter, and while his voice was light, it was clear he wasn’t taking the conversation lightly at all.

“Nope,” Isaac answered, unconcerned. “I just wanted to point out how strange our pack is.” Then he smiled pleasantly and shoved a forkful of pancake into his mouth.

Stiles shook his head. “You’re such a shit, Isaac.”

Isaac grinned wide enough to show his mouth full of food.

“I swear to god…” said Derek, exasperated with his one-time beta.

 

+

 

After breakfast, while Scott and Isaac were clearing away the dishes, Stiles turned to Lydia. “Take a walk with me?”

Lydia nodded.

Stiles handed Nova to Allison who had been waiting patiently for her turn with the baby werecub all morning, then set off with Lydia.

It was early enough in the year that the California weather remained forgivingly cool mid-morning, and Stiles appreciated the slight breeze as he and Lydia wound around the neighborhood together.

“I don’t have some speech I wanted to deliver, or some special talk I wanted to have,” began Stiles. “I just wanted to give you the chance to talk about how you’re feeling about all this now that we’re home. If you wanted, I mean.”

Lydia didn’t speak at first. They walked the length of a block in silence before she opened her mouth.

“It’s not my place to judge,” she said finally.

“Come on, Lydia,” Stiles said gently. “That’s such a non-answer and you know it.”

“I don’t know what you expect me to say, Stiles,” she said tightly. “I don’t like Peter. I never will.”

“I don’t want you to like him,” Stiles replied. “But I don’t want you to like me less because I do.”

“I couldn’t if I wanted to,” Lydia said with a small smile. “And trust me, I won’t ever want to.”

“Are we okay then?” Stiles asked, anxious for the answer.

“Stiles, we always were.” Lydia let out a deep sigh. “I’m not…resistant to you and Peter. It is what it is at this point. I accept that because I love you. And whatever version of love Peter fucking Hale is capable of seems to be what he feels for you.”

Stiles felt his throat tighten. “Thanks, Lydia.”

Lydia bumped his shoulder with her own. “But I want you to know that, despite what I’ve said, that doesn’t mean I won’t say I told you so when Peter breaks your heart.”

“I wouldn’t expect any less.”


	13. Chapter 13

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I tried to restrain myself and hold off posting the last couple of chapters over the next week, but I just couldn't. 
> 
> I'm ready to conclude this puppy for good.

That evening Stiles and Peter were back out on the swing, this time with Nova in tow. Now that she was safely tucked away in California and surrounded only by fellow pack members, both of her charms had been removed. She laid between them with her sideburns and claws in full effect, and Stiles could tell that even after a month Peter had yet to get tired of taking in her uncovered scent.

“You can’t try and tell me you’re happy to smell her poop again, though,” said Stiles.

Peter rolled his eyes. “Of course you take it there.”

“You mean to its logical conclusion?”

“Why do I love you again?” Peter asked exasperatedly.

Stiles froze beside him, and Peter turned to meet his eyes. “So we’re saying it now?” he asked.

Peter shrugged. “I don’t see why not. Unless it isn’t true?"

“It’s still true,” Stiles said firmly. “Despite how you’ve acted the past month.”

Peter breathed heavily through his nose. “I think we’d do well to talk about a lot of our past behavior.”

Stiles frowned. “That makes it sound like I fucked up somehow, too.”

“So you think you’re blameless?”

“Uh, yeah. For the most part? I do.”

Peter momentarily closed his eyes. “Do you know what I gave up to come to Austin?” he asked.

Stiles shifted uncomfortably next to him. “Not really, I guess.”

“Did it ever occur to you to _ask_?”

“No, it didn’t. I didn’t want you there in the first place.”

“Right, which is terribly mature of you.”

Stiles moved so that he was facing Peter’s profile on the swing, picking up Nova so that he could pull in a leg, and then rearranging her in his lap. “Look, you’re right. In that particular way I was selfish. I’m sorry-it never did occur to me that you might have had a life back here.”

“Do you know how asinine that sounds though, Stiles?” The words were sharp, but not wholly unkind, and Stiles couldn’t help but admit his mistake.

“Yeah, I can now. But at the time? No fucking way, Peter. I mean, I’m sorry I wasn’t more considerate, but you didn’t exactly work hard to foster any consideration.”

“And that’s an excuse for your selfishness?”

Stiles shook his head. “I’m not making any excuses. And I’ve already said I’m sorry. It was shitty of me. But my life had been turned upside down, and you weren’t helping. I can’t help I didn’t have the energy to spare to consider your life might have been fucked over, too.”

Peter said nothing. He looked at Nova in Stiles’ lap and then tickled her feet. “She’s going to have a mouth like a sailor,” he eventually said.

Stiles smiled. “Look, I _am_ sorry. Tell me now what you sacrificed—I’m ready to hear it.”

“I had a career here,” Peter said. “I consulted locally and remotely on matters of supernatural disturbances. People took me seriously, what with the Hale name and the whole business of me engineering my own reincarnation. It was very lucrative, and I put a lot of the money into the pack.”

“That explains a lot,” Stiles murmured, and Peter nodded.

“When it came to deliberations to let me join the pack, it certainly didn’t hurt. But then you called, Stiles. You called, and you had a baby werewolf on your doorstep, and someone had to be there. Scott and Allison and Isaac and Lydia were in school, and none of them had the experience to help anyway. Derek was playing ambassador all over the country, a roll no one else could fill. And who else was there?” Peter looked at Stiles and ran a hand through Stiles’ hair.

“Who else, Stiles? I was the one with the most experience raising children, the one with no especially strong geographical ties. I had money and time, so I came out. Put the business on hold to help full time with Nova. I mean, I did some remote consulting quietly in Austin, just to keep busy, but I had essentially abandoned a business I’d built from the ground up and was very proud of.”

Stiles couldn’t believe it. “Why didn’t you say anything?”

“I was bitter about it. It was a sore subject. I didn’t want to bring it up, I wanted to get past it. And we were…we were starting to get along better.”

Stiles was all but speechless. A faint, “Peter,” was all he could muster.

“It doesn’t matter now, Stiles. Things all worked out for the best,” Peter assured. “I’ve been re-establishing my connections since we got back to California, and no major damage was done to the business. And now I’ve got Nova in addition to the rest. And you.”

Stiles felt for Peter, and was undeniably emotional over how strongly Peter seemed to feel for him. But he had also become adept at dealing with Peter and the roundabout ways he danced around accountability. Stiles wasn’t going to let Peter dance around any unpleasant responsibility just because Stiles' own selfishness had been admitted to.

“It didn’t really feel like you had me for the last few weeks, though,” he said, and his resolve strengthened when Peter’s jaw clenched in frustration. "Yeah, don’t think pointing how much of an ass I was means we don’t get to talk about how much an ass you’ve been.”

“Of course I wouldn’t be so lucky,” Peter replied flatly.

“Peter,” Stiles exclaimed. “I told you I loved you, and you stopped talking to me for five weeks.”

Peter’s expression hardened. “You were never supposed to say it.”

“What does that even _mean_?”

Peter stood suddenly from the swing, jarring Nova from where she was sleeping in Stiles’ lap. She let out a small cry and began to fuss until Stiles was standing and rocking her softly.

“Okay, I think she needs to be put to bed. You stay here and figure out what the hell you’re trying to say. I’ll be back in a minute.”

Stiles went inside and straight to Nova’s room. He tucked her in, kissed her forehead, and then made his way back downstairs. He moved slowly, not in a hurry to get back to Peter. As much as he had pushed for this conversation to happen, he wasn’t sure he was actually ready to hear what Peter had to say.

In the kitchen he found Derek, sitting at the dining table with a cup of coffee. “No plans to sleep tonight?” Stiles asked.

Derek shook his head. “I have to be at the airport in two hours. I know I won’t sleep on the plane, so I may as well be awake enough to get some work done instead.”

“Right,” said Stiles, remembering Derek’s schedule. “I completely forgot you were heading off tonight. You have a ride to the airport figured out?”

“I do,” Derek replied lightly. “Peter.”

“Oh,” Stiles said dumbly. Then he walked awkwardly out of the kitchen.

When he was back outside he glared at Peter. “So I see you’ve initiated this conversation knowing full well you’d have an out for it.”

Peter closed his eyes. “Shit, Derek. I completely forgot.”

Stiles didn’t really believe Peter, but he kept his mouth shut. He let it go. “I’ll wait up for you,” he said. “We’re finishing this conversation tonight.”

Peter nodded. “I want to,” he said. He walked over to Stiles and wrapped his arms around the younger man.

Stiles returned the hug and raised his chin for a kiss. “Drive safe,” he murmured against Peter’s neck.

“I will,” Peter agreed. Then he went inside to go get Derek.

 

+

 

Stiles was tucked into Peter’s bed when the werewolf returned. It was surreal to be back in the same bed he’d shared with Peter for the last month of his time in Austin. Its old familiar lumps poked at him pleasantly, as if happy to see his return.

He was dozing away on it, half asleep and half thinking about all the words said before Peter had left with Derek. Stiles was ashamed of his own earlier selfishness, and stiff upset with Peter's behavior since they'd both returned to California. But the fact that Peter was in love with him, _really_ in love with him, blotted out much of his other less-happy feelings. He was still reveling in the fact when another body crawled in beside him.

“Hey,” he said sleepily to Peter, turning around to face him.

“Hey,” Peter returned softly.

“Derek make his flight?” asked Stiles.

Peter nodded. “We didn’t have a single trouble.”

“That’s good,” Stiles replied. “Now tell me why it scared you so bad when I told you I loved you.”

Peter sighed. “You were never supposed to say it.”

“You said that already, but what the fuck does that mean, Peter?”

Peter shifted to bend his elbow his head could rest in his hand. “It was supposed to be easy and fun. I had intended sex with you to be nothing more than a way to relieve the horrible tension and relax. To pass the time, even. And in some ways as a reward for moving half way across the country to take care of what was essentially _your_ unplanned pregnancy.”

“Yeah, I was basically knocked up with Nova, you’re totally right.”

“I’m just trying to illustrate that I never planned on things being serious. It was fun almost. I pushed, you pulled, I pushed some more. And then it wasn’t really fun anymore. Or rather, it was fun, but it was also _more_ than that. I wanted you near me always, I was jealous when I considered the very idea you might be interested in other people. I woke up next to you in bed, and it was natural as the shifting moon to scent you every morning, even without the whole Nova scent situation.”

Stiles felt a lump grow in his throat. This was more than he expected. He focused on the easiest part of what Peter had said when he spoke. “Was any of the hormone stuff even real? Or just a ploy?”

Peter nodded. “That was all true. And it was miserable. And I wish I could chock up my ensuing attraction to you to the trauma of losing Nova’s scent, but the honest fucking truth Stiles? Isaac wasn’t wrong. I've wanted you in one way or another for years. I think I've wanted you since you screamed at me in that high school.”

Stiles swallowed, worried at his lower lip. “But that wouldn’t keep you from hurting me if you thought it best served your interests, would it?”

“I don’t know. I don’t think so.”

Stiles moved to lie on his back.

“How much does that upset you?” asked Peter.

“Not much, I guess. I mean, it is what it is. It’s like somehow I can accept that the reality is you can love me as much as you’re able, you can want to spend every day with me, and every night. You can want to raise a child with me. You can want to grow old with me, even. But it’s also true that what you want most is self-preservation. Like, I don’t come first, but damn am I a close second.”

“That’s…more or less accurate,” Peter said with some surprise.

“And I think I can live with that, Peter. I really do. But what about Nova? Assuming it wasn’t all part of the manipulation, we’re having her call us fucking ‘Dad’ and "Daddy" now. Is she fair game the same way I am?”

Peter’s eyes flashed a vibrant blue. “ _No. Never_.”

“Well, okay then,” Stiles said, a little taken aback at Peter’s vehemence.

Peter gave Stiles a long look. “Can I ask you something now?”

Stiles nodded, a little nervous.

“You worry about my ability to stay faithful to you in the face of my own survival. But would you not put me in the line of fire if it came to protecting yourself or Scott or Nova? And if you would, then are you really so different that me?”

Stiles stared at Peter, frustrated at the question and disappointed in the truth at the core of it. But in a way, it was freeing to admit to that side of himself. So Stiles didn’t hesitate in answering, “I guess I’m not.”

It was like hitting a switch. All at once Peter was on top of Stiles, his mouth on Stiles’ mouth, his hands tearing at Stiles’ clothes.

“ _That’s why I love you_ ,” Peter hissed into his skin, and Stiles couldn’t help but smile. 


	14. Chapter 14

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This fic has a soundtrack I put together to go with it! Listen to it here: http://8tracks.com/myheart-hope2porn/all-this-love-of-mine

**TEN YEARS LATER**

 

Nova plunked down the stairs in her new rain boots.

“Quiet feet,” Aunt Lydia said from the kitchen.

“Sorry, Auntie,” Nova mumbled as she walked more carefully over towards the dining table. “What are you working on?”

Aunt Lydia looked up from her laptop and smiled. “An essay for a fancy magazine.”

“I hate writing essays,” Nova complained. “I can’t believe you write them for fun.”

Aunt Lydia frowned at the screen. “Sometimes I can’t believe I do, either.” She looked back up at Nova, “Did you need something, Stargirl?”

“I’m looking for Daddy,” Nova answered.

“I think he’s out front with Dad and Derek.”

“Thank you!” Nova said politely, then took off running for the front door.

“Nova!” Aunt Lydia called after her. “What did I just say?”

Nova froze a few steps from the door. “Quiet feet,” she called back. The last few steps were made much more softly.

In the front yard she did indeed find Dad, Daddy, and her cousin Derek, though she wasn’t sure what they were doing. It seemed to involve tearing logs apart by hand.

“This is a disgusting and ostentatious display of masculinity, which really only proves to me how fragile your own senses of manhood are,” Daddy said. He had his arms folded, and he looked to be pouting. Nova, who never did seem to get her way over anything, knew all about how to pout.

“Daddy!” She called from the porch, and all three heads turned to look at her.

“Nova, baby, please tell your father and your cousin that they’re not impressing anyone.”

Nova parted her lips, but didn’t actually speak. Then her Dad spoke instead anyway. “Nova, my darling, please tell your father his jealously over how strong and sexy his husband is, is really just adorable.”

“I don’t know what you’re talking about,” Nova said, resisting the urge to pout herself. “I just want to go to the beach. Daddy promised, and Auntie Allison and Uncle Isaac bought me new boots to wear especially for the trip.”

“Oh, shit,” Daddy said quietly, but Nova could still hear him.

“That’s a bad word, Daddy. You have to give me one dollar now.”

“Someone’s got you whipped,” said Derek, and Daddy frowned.

“Please don’t ever use the word in relation to me and my daughter again, okay?”

“She is right though,” said Dad. “That is the deal for swearing in front of the eleven year old.”

“I hate Lydia, sometimes,” Daddy groaned. “Okay, Stargirl, come over here to collect your cash and show us your new boots.”

Nova did so happily, strutting her way over so as to showcase her new footwear.

“Those are beautiful, sweetie,” Dad said, crouching down to see them better. “We’ll have to make Allison and Isaac a very nice card, don’t you think?”

“Yes, Dad,” Nova agreed. But she was single-minded in her focus. “Daddy, please, can we go to the beach today like you said?”

Daddy smiled and unfolded his arms. “I did promise, Nova. But I thought you wanted Uncle Scott and Auntie Kira to come, too, and they’re still out of town.”

“You snooze you lose,” Nova said with a shrug. “I want to find another sand dollar.”

“Well, you can’t argue with that logic,” Derek agreed.

“Okay, baby, let me just go get a few things.” He looked to Dad. “You coming, He-Man?”

Dad grinned. “But of course.”

“What about you, Derek?”

Cousin Derek shook his head. “No, I have some stuff I want to take care of around the house. You guys have fun, though.”

“All right,” said Daddy. “Just the three of us, then.” Then he looked back over to Nova and Dad and squawked. “Really, Peter?”

Dad had given Nova a small log and asked her to try and spilt it with her hands, which she was half-way successful at.

“I’ve had it with all of you,” Daddy muttered.

 

+

  

The beach was cold and overcast, with rain occasionally falling on everyone’s head as they walked along the shore. But Nova was overjoyed to be out exploring. She raced ahead of her fathers, who kept a slower pace and walked with their hands knit together ( _embarrassing_ ), keeping her eyes peeled for sand dollars and other ocean treasures.

“Nova, slow down a little,” Dad called from behind her, and with great effort she managed to hold herself back.

“Any chance you guys could just walk faster?” she asked back.

Daddy scoffed. “We’re having a very romantic moment, honey,” he said. “You can’t rush these things when they happen.” Then he turned and laid a long kiss on Dad’s lips.

“I can’t watch this!” Nova called back, then stomped her way further ahead again.

After two more hours of Nova struggling with her fathers’ goopy displays, she had found two sand dollars and thus considered the day a great success.

“I’m ready to go home now,” she announced to Dad and Daddy, who had been lounging on a large flat boulder while Nova cataloged her treasures one final time.

“How about we stop for lunch first?” Dad said.

“Oh, can we go to the Beachecomber?” Nova asked excitedly.

“Yes, but you can only have one cupcake this time,” Daddy said firmly.

“That’s okay,” replied Nova, but she couldn’t deny she was a little disappointed.

“We better get walking then,” Dad said. “It’s going to take us a half an hour just to get there.”

 

+

 

In the car after lunch, Nova looked out the window, watching the rain, and tried to keep herself from falling asleep. But she was tired from the day and pleasantly full from lunch, so it was hard. In the front seats, her fathers were talking quietly, their hands twined and resting over the middle compartment while Dad drove them all home. She listened to them chat and watched droplets of water slide down the glass.

“Today was good,” Daddy was saying.

“It was,” agreed Dad.

“Is it bad that I’m glad no one else came with us?”

Dad turned to give Daddy a happy look. “Probably, but I’m glad, too.”

Daddy took a sip from his coffee cup, a last minute purchase from the Beachcomber, and sighed. “Fuck, their coffee is so good.”

Nova thought about making Daddy cough up another dollar, but she was too tired.

Dad snorted and bought the hand he was holding to his lips, kissing the knuckles. “I love you, Stiles,” he whispered to Daddy.

Daddy pulled their hands to his lips and kissed Dad’s. “I love you, too, Peter.”

“And we both love you lots, Nova,” Dad said, looking briefly back at her.

Daddy startled. “This means I owe her another dollar, doesn’t it?”

Nova laughed, and finally closed her eyes to give in to her fatigue. “It’s okay, Daddy. I love you both too, so this one’s on me.”

Then she slept while Dad and Daddy laughed in the front seats.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I cannot believe that this is a thing that's happened. That I have finished this fic, the longest thing I've ever completed.
> 
> Thank you so, so, SO much to everyone who read, commented, subscribed, lefts kudos, and or/bookmarked this story--I can't express how much it all means to me.
> 
> I hope this fic was a satisfying ride to read. It was certainly one to write. 
> 
> Much love everyone. Thanks again.


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